Heads and Hearts
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Sequel to "Glowing Embers." When Marshall is in an accident, he suffers an impairment that greatly impacts his marriage to Mary and his relationship with her daughter. Rated T for minor language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: All right, it's time for the oldest line in the books, my friends – it has been TOO long! Followed closely by, "I missed you!" How many stories have I started posting now that have started with that introduction? Well, let me assure you it has never stopped being true!**

**So, I am back, over three months since the close of "Summer Stardust" with a new tale, "Heads and Hearts." This fresh story is a sequel to "Glowing Embers" which I wrapped up in November of 2012 (almost two years ago!) For those who didn't read "Glowing Embers" or cannot remember what it entailed, here is a brief recap:**

"**Glowing Embers" took place mid-to-late season four and, when a pregnant Mary was trapped in a burning elementary school protecting a young witness, she was forced to deliver her baby eight weeks ahead of schedule due to a placental abruption she suffered after falling in the chaos of the fire. This baby became Melissa, better known as "Missy" or "Little Missy" and after much deliberation, Mary opted to keep her rather than giving her up for adoption, and watched her grow stronger in the NICU, Marshall by her side. Of course, the pair of happy partners got together and, in the epilogue (at Melissa's fifth birthday,) we discovered they had gotten married. The epilogue also told us that Melissa's upbringing had been fairly unconventional; she had no one she considered a father, and called Marshall, Mark, and Stan all by their first names; they shared the role of parent along with Mary. She's a skinny, tiny, clever girl with glasses and brilliance she inherited from her beloved Marshall. ;)**

"**Heads and Hearts" begins with Missy as an eight-year-old and, as you probably know from my stories by now, this child's life isn't going to be without drama! I have to say, I hope it is not a tale that becomes too depressing to read because it can get very bleak at times, which was no on purpose, but you know me and the theatrics. I will try to shut up now and hope that you enjoy the first chapter!**

XXX

Coppery and round, with a perfect circling ridge etched into the surface, Mary worked the buckle of the overalls into its holster for what felt like the fiftieth time. The satisfying click meant she had secured the clasp, and that she could move on to the other strap. First, she smoothed the one she had been working on, making sure it wasn't going to slip off the shoulders of her weedy, tiny little girl. Scrawny like an underfed cat, Melissa boasted arms like twigs and knobby knees, fortunately covered this morning by her beloved jean overalls. As Mary worked on getting her dressed, she continually pushed her round glasses back onto the bridge of her nose. They were always slipping.

This was a hard morning for Mary, though she was trying not to show it in front of her daughter, who was as blasé as she was every day before school. The woman had never seen her child as lesser – not once. In fact, she'd often considered her far superior to other children, with her staggering intellect and horde of men waiting at her beck-and-call. Today though, she seemed to be viewing her through a different set of lenses.

How could she never have noticed just how skinny she really was? She ate like a horse, but never put on any weight – one of the blissful things that kids took for granted. Her glasses really were slightly too big for her. Why hadn't Mary ever gotten her another pair, a pair that would stay on her nose so she could actually see straight? Maybe then she wouldn't always be bumping into things, tripping over nothing, and banging her elbows and knees on anything in sight.

"Mom, aren't you done yet?" Melissa finally interrupted the workings of her mother's mind with an impatient huff. "My eggs will get cold."

Startled back to reality, Mary shook her head and hastened to do-up the second overall buckle, creating a perfect bib over the bright yellow thermal shirt Melissa wore beneath. She looked adorable. She always looked adorable, although Mary would never use such a word aloud. How could an outfit so darling also have Mary wishing her daughter would change her clothes and put on something else?

It wasn't that she hated the overalls. It was the other kids – the mean, nasty, bratty, intolerant second graders with whom her child was unfortunate enough to share a classroom. They hated the overalls. They hated the glasses too. And the clumsiness. And the smaller stature. And in spite of it all, Melissa rarely seemed to mind. Still awed by this, Mary couldn't let her get away so quickly, still perched on her knees on her daughter's bedroom floor so they were eye-to-eye.

"Are you sure you want to wear these?" she asked, plucking the worn denim with a fingernail.

Melissa nodded, "They're my favorite."

"I know," Mary sighed.

How could she not? She donned the same pair every day.

"But, Miss Newman told me that some of the kids in your class were teasing you. None of them wear overalls."

Melissa shrugged, "They were. They said I looked like a farmer. But, I don't care. I like them. I want to wear them."

"Sweets…" Mary used the affectionate nickname she had coined her daughter by from the very beginning. "You know that Marshall and I are going to talk to your teacher today. These other kids, they can't get away with picking on you."

"But, they're just being dumb," Melissa was truly unruffled by the whole experience, though it had followed her around since kindergarten. "They don't _get_ me. They don't _understand_ me," there was no denying that. "That's their problem. I have friends. I don't need them."

"What friends?" Mary couldn't help wondering, as her eight-year-old never brought any companions over to the house. "Honestly."

And Missy was nothing if not honest.

"Marshall and Mark and Stan."

This both touched and broke Mary's heart, "Yeah, but Melissa…"

"And, once Brandi's baby is born, he'll be my friend too. Besides, Mark said that the kids in my class are just jealous because I'm so smart and that's why they make fun of me. I'm not gonna pretend I'm not smart."

And the mother had to admire this. It was true her daughter was a brain of epic proportions, and there probably was some fact in Mark's theory, but that couldn't be the only reason the heathens of second grade were on her daughter's case. They might have been intimidated by her at first – a little waif with a mind the size of Albuquerque itself – but Mary didn't think they were so envious of the way she was so accident-prone, or that she was practically blind without her spectacles.

Eight years before, being a little awkward with her footing and having bad eyesight had seemed like a bee sting after having been born eight weeks too soon after surviving a blazing fire. Mary got angry just thinking about it. Whatever Melissa's quirks, she couldn't help most of them. And, it shouldn't matter anyway. She had a heart of gold. Why was it that only the three most important men in her life saw it for what it was?

"Mom, I'm hungry!" she finally bleated with a little giggle, bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Can't I go have breakfast?"

Mary shook her head, knowing that if these things didn't bother Melissa, they shouldn't bother her, and granted sanction for her to head to the kitchen.

"Tell Marshall I'll be there in a minute…" Melissa was off, sliding in her socks down the hall. "Be careful…"

Used to this caution, the little girl didn't comment, but for once Mary wasn't truly worried. Her kid actually ran pretty well – like once she picked up enough speed, her arms and legs knew what to do. It was walking and anything involving sports that posed a problem. Her coordination was abysmal, something Mary had never cared about until she'd entered school and the other children began to take notice.

Standing and knowing she was probably nervous over nothing, Mary made her way to visit her husband, who was standing at the stove with a dishtowel tucked in his pocket and flipping bacon with the greatest of ease. Melissa was a few feet behind him, holding a plate that was already piled high with scrambled eggs.

"Here's the pitch!" the man called, and with a backward serve, he sent a strip of bacon flying over his shoulder, presumably to land on Melissa's plate.

Like every morning before this one – whether Marshall was tossing bacon, pancakes, or waffles – the food landed on the floor. Melissa wasn't very good at catching, but she laughed anyway, rescuing her breakfast and taking a hearty bite before sauntering to the table.

"Five second rule!" she proclaimed around bites of bacon.

"I think we adopted the ten second rule in this house a long time ago," Marshall decided. "Have a seat, Little Missy. I'll pour you some juice."

"I've got it…" Mary decided to make her presence known, not going to let Marshall do all the grunt work, not when he did so much for the two of them already. "Do you want apple or orange, sweets?"

"Cranberry!"

Marshall smirked at the eccentric choice while Mary rooted around in the back of the fridge for the desired beverage, glad there was still a swallow of the crimson liquid left. She plunked it on the island and unscrewed the cap while Marshall abandoned his post at the stove and joined her. Brushing her hair out of her face, he laid a good morning kiss on her cheek. She smiled against her will, but wouldn't glance up and show him how nervous she was about the impending meeting that afternoon.

But, Mary ought to have known by now that Marshall could sense anything, whether you used words or not.

"You have been awfully quiet since the sunrise…" he observed, leaning close and whispering in her ear. "Something on your mind?"

Mary skirted the issue with something trivial, "I wish she wouldn't wear those overalls to school."

"Don't you think she looks cute?" Marshall already knew the answer to this; he was playing coy.

"Of course I do," though she wouldn't assume his exact phrasing. "You know I do."

"So, what's the problem?"

"The problem is that it's just another way that she's different," Mary spat, hating herself for wanting her child to conform, but it would be better than hearing she was being endlessly teased day in and out. "As if having a mom and three dads wasn't making her different enough…"

"First of all, she does not have three dads," Marshall politely corrected her. "She has three _boys_…" since that was how Melissa referred to them. "Who adore her and treat her as their own. She's lucky…"

"Seven-and-eight-year-olds don't see it that way. I swear, they think you and Mark are some sort of gay couple and that Stan is your father…"

Marshall gave a laugh, "If they had ever seen me with you, it would blow that hypothesis right out of their heads."

Hearing him joke, Mary knew it was time to give up the ghost, "I don't want to go to this stupid meeting. I don't need to hear Miss Newman and that dumbass principal tell me what's wrong with my kid. There's nothing wrong with her. It's those other brat's parents they should be talking to, not me."

"Be that as it may…" Marshall was patient as he ran a finger down Mary's neck, creating a tickle that very nearly made her jump. "I think it's time we faced that her balance is a legitimate concern; they've been telling us since kindergarten that her equilibrium is off…"

"They aren't doctors."

"No, but there are exercises she can do that will help with that sort of thing, which means the other kids won't have as much reason to make fun of her…"

"So, _she's_ supposed to change when _she's_ the victim?" Mary hissed, turning to face Marshall dead-on and hoping her daughter wouldn't hear.

The man shrugged, "She doesn't act like a victim. I don't think a few little coordination activities will bother her at all. I think it bothers you more."

It wasn't as if Mary didn't already know this. Her concerns for Melissa far outweighed Melissa's concerns for herself – and even Marshall's reservations. It shouldn't have surprised her, really, because her husband reveled in the fact that his would-be-daughter was so unique. He practically salivated over it. Deep down, Mary liked that she was her own person as well, with no qualms about what others thought, but surely one day that was going to catch up with her.

With an inkling that his wife was a tough one to sway when it came to Missy's feelings, Marshall softened seeing her scowl.

"Look…Mary…" now his arm was around her shoulders, jostling the furthest one in a lets-roll-with-it kind of way. "I know you hate thinking of her being taunted by some circle of onlookers. I do too. But, she's always done very well holding her own. I think it's up to us to give her whatever tools she doesn't possess to make her life a little easier, even if she doesn't realize it's hard."

"Aren't you philosophical," the woman groused. And then, "Melissa, come get your juice!"

With the scraping of her chair, she got up – not without hitting her shoulder on the seat when she stood – and rushed forward. Taking the glass from her mother, she took a long gulp while the adults looked on. When she emerged, she had red rings around her lips, which she promptly smacked with delight.

"Delectable!" she proclaimed. "Very pleasant, especially to eat or drink, right Marshall?" she rattled off the definition without missing a beat.

"You got it, ma'am," he praised. "You ready for that math test you have today?" leaving Mary and her woes in the rearview.

"I think so," but she was as confident as ever. "It's two-digit addition, and you already taught me two-digit subtraction, so addition's pretty easy."

"Quick! Fourteen plus twelve!" Marshall demanded, mock-serious like a drill sergeant.

Melissa mouthed soundlessly for a moment, her eyes flipping skyward, but the answer came without even using her fingers.

"Twenty-six."

The inspector smirked and held up his hand, "Put her there, Missy," and she jumped up to smack his palm. "You don't even need a pencil and paper. That is most impressive."

"I see it in my head," she told him, taking another drink of her cranberry juice. "Carrying the ones and everything. But, I like when I use the paper too. That way I know I didn't make a mistake."

"You are a bright bulb, my dear," Marshall's glowing compliments never ended. "Finish your breakfast and get packed up for school."

Taking her drink with her, the child meandered back to the table, Mary watching her go with something between fondness and – was it? – pity. She didn't know why she felt sorry for her daughter, especially when said daughter was so sure of herself and could allow those less mature than she to just roll off her back. But, the school system had been crying 'odd duck' on her for years, even if that wasn't what they called it.

In kindergarten, she was so advanced than the other students that they'd wanted to move her to first grade, but Mary had refused, backed up by Marshall. Nonetheless, she'd sailed ahead, reading far more difficult books than anybody else in the class, leaving her isolated almost immediately. Her clumsiness had started to surface then too, and while they'd made a note of it during her initial year, it wasn't until first grade that the teachers had begun suggesting that she see someone. When you knocked over buckets of crayons and bins of scissors just walking past, it appeared to be a red flag.

But, Mary had always insisted that Melissa's troubles were unimportant – minor, even. Glasses had fixed her blurry vision. Wouldn't time and age fix her balance? Fix her gracelessness? Wouldn't she grow at some point despite being just over three pounds at birth? Physically, was she destined to stay behind forever, no matter how she bounded ahead academically?

"Why are kids so damn superficial?" Mary murmured as she watched Melissa devour the remainder of her eggs. "Why do they care what she looks like?"

"Because they're kids," Marshall supplied. "Life is rarely fair for the short, skinny, and squinting. I may have only fit one of those descriptions as a kid, but it was rough for me too. Missy's fortunate that she can brush it off."

"She shouldn't have to," the blonde reiterated. "And if there were any justice in this world, no self-respecting teacher would make me go to a school where I was nearly torched alive."

She was dripping with attitude and sarcasm, turning back to the stove to see if there was any bacon left for her, but Marshall wouldn't let her get away so easily. Laying a hand on her back, his fingers began to pinch lightly, trying to ease her tension.

"I know that going back is not your idea of a fun time," he whispered gently. "But, you've managed before and you will manage this time. I'll be there with you. PTSD-like memories aside, there is nothing to fear from a building."

Easy for him to say.

Melissa attending school in the very complex where she and her mother had almost lost their lives was some kind of cruel irony. But, while the little girl found it exhilarating, even a mark of her bravery, Mary found it daunting. She hated visiting the elementary, even knowing that her fright was somewhat irrational, that the threat was long gone. Even the renovations that had taken place after the fire eight years earlier couldn't squelch the sort of memories evoked from setting foot inside.

"Are you sure Stan's okay with you taking the afternoon off?" Mary proposed so she wouldn't have to dwell. "I worry about him and Eleanor getting all cozy in there by themselves…"

Marshall chuckled, "He said he was fine with it. If something comes up, we can send Mark."

Mary much preferred having her husband with her for anything involving Melissa's education, but Mark could be a good sidekick as well. He doted on her very precociously, always making sure her hair was combed, that she was comfortable and presentable. Mary had always thought Marshall would be the one who was so meticulous, but it had been her bio-daddy from the start, though no man in Missy's life came with a label.

"You want my dishes?" the girl in question returned almost out of nowhere, sneaking up and holding her empty plate and cup. "I ate it all…"

"That's where you say, 'My compliments to the chef,'" Marshall bowed down and accepted the cutlery before depositing it in the sink. "It will make you sound highly sophisticated."

Melissa ignored him, "Can I call Stan before we have to go? He said he was going to teach me to fly my model airplane one day after school…"

"Better wait," Mary had to turn her down, knowing her boss would be especially busy this morning planning for both his inspectors being out that afternoon. "But, Stan won't forget; he just has a lot to do."

"But, I already painted it without him, and he said he really wanted to see it fly – besides, I want to show him the parallel stripes I made," Melissa pouted by being told the boss couldn't come to the house. "Can't I just call and ask?"

"We'll ask him when we go in this morning," Marshall referred to himself and Mary, even though he knew the child really just wanted to speak to Stan, with or without the airplane. "If not today, probably soon."

Looking dejected by being thwarted, but not going to give up, Melissa's mouth worked side-to-side as she attempted to bargain for something. She was not a girl who threw all her cards in the air from a simple 'no.'

"Can I call Mark, then?"

Mary stuck a hand on her hip, "What for?"

Her daughter shrugged, as she had no feasible response, "Just 'cause."

With that, her hands went inside the pockets of her overalls and she swayed back and forth, batting her eyelashes beneath her glasses and looking so wholly innocent it would be next to impossible to deny her anything. Mousy and tiny she might be, but Marshall hadn't been lying. She was painfully cute, especially once she started in with spouting her scholarly phrases, just like her step-father. Mary wondered if any other eight-year-old used the word, 'parallel.'

Sighing and salvaging her phone from the counter, Mary handed it out, exasperated but lenient because of the ill-omened sit-down that would be taking place that afternoon.

"You know the number," it would be good for Mark to be reminded of the chit-chat to be had with the teacher and principal anyway, once Mary got a chance to speak to him. "Tell him if he's not out of bed yet, then he'd better haul…"

"Behind," Marshall cut in shrewdly, grinning at stopping his wife from saying 'ass.' "He better haul his behind out of bed."

Buttoning up while Melissa giggled, the woman rolled her eyes, reaching in the wicker basket that sat on the counter and hoping to find a brush. The girl dialed, Mary noticing just how tangled her hair was in the process, and she soon reached a third of the trio with which she was so enraptured.

"Hi Mark. It's me."

Mary knew without even being able to hear her ex-husband that he had countered with, 'me who?' and Melissa's next lines proved it.

"You know who!" she squealed, her mother tossing bills and rubber bands out of the storage bin she was rooting inside. "Missy!"

Silence while Mary wondered if she would have to retreat to the bathroom before finding something with which to tame her child's dirty blonde streaks. Marshall went to the sink and began rinsing plates and all the other spoiled dishes, Melissa getting on with her conversation.

"Nothing…" another pause. "Mom said I could say hi before school. I have a math test today."

"Got it!" Mary was triumphant, finding a brush with a wad of tangled hair ensnared in all the prongs. "Sad-looking, but…"

"But, it'll get the job done," Marshall called over his shoulder. "Frankly, I still find it amusing that you fancy yourself any sort of stylist."

Mary took the josh in stride, "Like you said, I get the job done."

"You can quiz me if you want…" Melissa was saying, the mother pulling pieces of lint from inside her utensil so it wouldn't look like her daughter had dandruff when she finally got around to calming the locks. "All the way up to thirty, but Miss Newman said the test would only go up to twenty. I'll just be ready for the next one."

"Sweets, come here…" Mary detoured around the island and yanked out a barstool, knowing the little girl could listen to two things at once quite well. "You've still got some ridiculous bed-head going on…"

Obediently, Melissa tried to hoist herself onto the stool with one hand, still occupied with Mark on the cell, but this was a mistake if ever Mary had seen it, though she wasn't able to stop her in time. Doing anything without both of her limbs almost always resulted in some kind of minor crash and, unable to balance on one foot while using the other to stand on the rungs of the stool, Missy toppled almost at once. It was predictable, even mundane, and still Mary was annoyed, probably due to the discussion she'd just had with Marshall about the child's stability, or lack thereof.

The phone landed with a loud bang on the linoleum, probably deafening Mark, and Melissa fell smack on her butt, reminding Mary of when she'd been a baby and had thumped hard on her rear too many times to count.

Marshall heard, but was placid as he turned off the water, "Whoa…did we have a collision over here…?"

"I'm okay…" Melissa insisted, not ruffled in the least, already pushing herself back to her feet.

But Mary, temperamental because she was being forced to examine every shortcoming her daughter possessed, was not so tranquil.

"Melissa, you have to careful!" she was louder than she meant to be. "You should've put the phone down and used both hands…"

The man saw where this was going and was quick to head her off, "Mare, come on..."

You knew it was bad when Melissa was bewildered too, "Why are you yelling? What'd I do?" she was more confused than upset, which was a good thing.

Knowing she was overreacting and pushing her own hair out of her face, Mary just exhaled and shook her head, hating that she was so jittery over something like talking with educational authority figures.

"Nothing…never mind…" she brushed it aside, not wishing to brood. "Get up there and I'll do something about your hair…"

"Why don't I take care of it?" Marshall offered, for all the men in their inner circle had learned a few things about refining the rat's nest when needed. "You talk to Mark."

Mary had forgotten about him. He too probably had to be wondering what was going on, but the blonde nodded her approval and stooped to retrieve her cell from the floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Marshall extend his hand in order to give Melissa a boost, ensuring she would not tumble again. Casting her mother a sidelong glance, the girl seemed put-out that her discussion with Mark was being cut short, but she also knew when it was a good idea to keep quiet.

Leaving the grooming to her husband, Mary dusted her phone off and turned it around before putting it to her ear.

"Mark, you still there?"

"Yeah…" his cheerful voice floated through, a little more perplexed than usual. "What happened? One minute I'm grilling Missy Jean on her addition facts, the next it's like a gun blasted off in my ear."

"Don't be so sure that wasn't me firing a warning shot," Mary started off irritable.

"No, seriously," Mark laughed. "Everything's all right? Did Missy fall?"

These men knew this girl way-way too well.

"Yes…" the inspector sighed. "Par for the course though, right?"

"You've got that meeting today, don't you?" so apparently Mark hadn't forgotten, not when he'd refused to beat around the bush. "Nervous, aren't you?" he was almost mocking, but Mary also knew he was joking.

"It's giving me hives. I know exactly what those hacks are going to tell me. That my kid is 'special' when 'special' is code for smart or lopsided or ungainly or a target for some band of spoiled little monsters to throw stones at on the playground."

Mark sounded as pacifying as her husband had, "Mare, don't freak out. I've been to a few of those conferences," only when Marshall couldn't attend. "They want to help her…"

"She doesn't need help," Mary interspersed snidely. "She's perfect the way she is."

Those words coming out of her mouth were disorienting. From a woman who had once claimed to think anything flawless was out of the question, she had learned where true faultlessness, excellence, and precision lay, and it was all wrapped up within her daughter. Who cared if she couldn't walk a straight line, if she was at least five inches shorter than every other second grader around, if she couldn't see without her glasses to save her life? Carelessly knocking into things, being petite and having poor eyesight were all part of who Missy was, and Mary would not change a single thing. She'd never wished she were more seemingly 'normal.' Never had she pined for a taller child, a child with x-ray vision or the ability to dribble a soccer ball. Who needed those things? Not Mary.

And as she looked across the room, as she saw Marshall gathering those blonde waves into a ponytail, brushing out the knots and securing it with a rubber band, she saw a little girl who was happy and healthy and brilliant to boot. Who was she to say she shouldn't wear overalls? She should wear whatever she damn well wanted.

Mark finally got around to answering, "Well, if perfection exists, I'd say she's pretty close to it, but don't discount that perfection can be honed."

"When you say things like 'honed' I know you've been hanging out with Marshall too much."

Mark laughed, but she wasn't listening anymore. Melissa was staring up into the face of the man who had watched her harrowing entrance into the world, had watched her grow each day from the tiny sprite in the NICU to the specimen they had before them today.

If Mary had wished for anything in those early days, when she had been hampered by smoke-filled lungs and debilitating uncertainty about the road of motherhood ahead, it had been a single entity.

She'd wished for a little Missy that belonged to Marshall. And a little Missy was exactly what she'd got.

XXX

**A/N: A rocky, but hopefully fairly cheerful beginning! I would LOVE to hear what you think of my first installment! I'm sure there is something I left out of my author's notes, but I can always make up for that next time – I yammered on enough already! Thank-you in advance for any reviews!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank-you so very much to those who already took the time to review! You flatter me, and I wouldn't be here without you!**

**A couple of things I forgot in my original author's notes: I made a brief reference in the epilogue of "Glowing Embers" that Eleanor had returned to help with the work load since Mary and Marshall had Missy to attend to in addition to their WITSEC duties. So, that's why she's in this story. Delia doesn't exist; I accidentally left her out of the original story and so she's just not here LOL.**

**Also, I wrote the first four chapters of this story about a year ago and then got the idea for "Summer Stardust." As a result, I completely abandoned this story and didn't come back until I finished "Summer Stardust." So, the first four chapters on this I wrote what feels like a long time ago; everything that comes after has been in the last three months. I don't know why I think that matters, just thought I'd mention it!**

XXX

It was the smell that first got to Mary. She'd thought it would be seeing the path to the library, or the newly-constructed staircase, but as neither of those were visible from the front office, she was spared any sort of hives that might come on.

No, she remembered far too much about the day Melissa was born, and the scent that filled her nostrils took her right back to standing in that first grade classroom, Cassidy's red ponytail bouncing above her shoulders, trying to sit in that tiny chair and wondering if it would hold her thirty-two-weeks-pregnant self. The air wafted something between crayons and glue, with a hint of eraser dust floating beneath the mingling aroma of melting wax. Though the kitchens were still downstairs, Mary thought she could even smell burnt pizza crust and stringy, processed cheese from far away.

She was fidgeting a lot. She knew she was, and kept telling herself over and over to cut it out, that Marshall, who was sitting beside her, would pick up on her anxiety. But, she couldn't make herself mellow out. Between the very action of having to reside in the building where she'd almost lost her life and knowing she was about to be told several things about Melissa that she did not want to hear, it was a wonder anyone could expect her to be calm.

In matching chairs outside the front office, Marshall with his ankles crossed, Mary shifting side-to-side, they faced dingy linoleum beneath their feet, the sounds of teachers instructing in rooms down the hall, and countless sloppy art projects adorning the cinderblock walls. Because it was October, and Halloween was nearing, the childlike masterpieces consisted of painted leaves in shades of brown, red, and orange. Row after row of autumn trees, some with too few branches, some with so many that they resembled claws. Older grades, Mary surmised, had decorated masks for the upcoming holiday, and these were glued to the walls as well. The eyeless holes in the construction paper seemed to follow Mary, seemed to watch as she tried to keep her mind on anything but where she was and what she was about to hear.

"What time is it?" she finally barked at Marshall, restless and edgy, thinking surely their appointment should've started by now.

He glanced at his watch, "Almost three. They've still got a few minutes before they are deemed the fashionably late ones."

By 'they' he meant the principal, a Mrs. Hodges with whom Mary was not familiar, and Miss Newman, Melissa's classroom teacher. The school's old principal, a Mr. Wallsmith, had left several years earlier, which made Mary uneasy. Both she and Marshall had known him fairly well, because they'd often had to coordinate with him for WITSEC-related issues. She could at least have been fairly certain he would do right by Missy, but she had no idea what to expect with Mrs. Hodges. Not being in control, not knowing what was coming, was always daunting for Mary.

"Try to relax…" the husband encouraged, reaching for her hand where it was fidgeting against her jeans. "This should be fairly painless. I predict no blood will be spilled."

"Not funny," Mary groused. "And 'painless' is subjective. You think it's painless to be told that your kid can't stand up straight and everyone, even other eight-year-olds, can spot it a mile away?"

"Well, she's my kid too," Marshall reminded her, but not without a twist. "Not technically speaking, but just the same. And, I agree that it's not ideal, but it's hardly an insurmountable climb. Playground scuffles with other youngins' are par for the course in elementary school. Little Missy has a tough exterior. No guessing where she got it either…"

Mary knew he was referring to her, trying to pay her a compliment, but she didn't take it to heart. When she got to brooding, no man or mortal could stop her.

"I'm telling you, if I had to come here every day, I'd probably be lashing out too…" not that she wanted to give the bullies any sort of pass. "Isn't their air conditioning working? Why did I bring a coat?"

"Because it's October…" Marshall sounded weary.

"Seriously, aren't you hot?" she fanned her shirt open, feeling the beads of sweat already soaking into her neck and chest. She was going to be drenched by the time she got home. "They need to crank it up in here…"

Marshall wasn't sure whether to assume that Mary's radiating like a furnace came from being nervous, or because she was recalling the sort of heat that had penetrated when she'd been trapped in a wall of flames eight years earlier. He'd told himself she would come around, that being back in the grade school wouldn't be so bad for her, but it appeared he was wrong. Most times they came, the building was full of activity and streams of children – too much stimulation to be worried about the bad memories. But, the starkness and the silence seemed to be getting to his wife and hitting her a little too close to the bone.

"Listen Mary, I don't want to have to be the one to call Jinx if you pass out in a puddle of your own perspiration…" still, Marshall found it in him to joke. "Come on now. This doesn't have to be such a production. So Missy has a few quirks; plenty, if not all, kids do…"

"She filled her quota on quirks when she was stuck in the NICU," Mary reminded him. "She was supposed to be fine. Everything she fought was supposed to be over…"

"She _is_ fine," Marshall would in no way look at the child as damaged. "She's practically gifted, she's affectionate, and if she has trouble making a few friends and walking a straight line and seeing, it doesn't matter…"

"I _know_ it doesn't matter," Mary turned to face him, vicious in her words. "You think I care that she's wearing glasses and whatever the hell else you just said?" she wouldn't repeat it. "It's teaching everyone else not to care, and how do I know these hacks can do that?"

Unfortunately, Mary's insult combined with a violent gesture toward the office came just as the door opened and the secretary stepped out. She looked a little bewildered by the scene in front of her, but resolved not to say anything. Marshall glanced over his shoulder awkwardly and then back at Mary who was still looking angered, but also embarrassed.

"You can come on in now…" she secretary invited slowly.

Annoyed that she'd let her emotions get the better of her, Mary growled low in her throat just to show Marshall she was not going to simmer down even in the presence of others, snatched up her bag and stomped into the office, her husband doing his best to keep up.

Her little display just earned her several more offhand looks from the receptionist, but Mary could've cared less about that. Miss Newman was standing in the doorway of the principal's office behind the front desk, looking nervous but determined to be cheerful – just like an elementary school teacher. Mary had never really had a problem with the woman; she was more tactful and less forthright than many of Melissa's former teachers, but that was probably because she was so young. Something told her; however, that with the weight of Mrs. Hodges to back her up, the usually accommodating would cave in to whatever the boss said was the best course of action. They were sunk.

Nonetheless, Mary covered up whatever insecurities she might have, barreling right ahead of Marshall to the open doorway.

"Mrs. Shannon, it's nice to see you again…" Miss Newman stuck out her hand to shake, which Mary reluctantly took, not able to truthfully say that it was 'nice' to see any of these people at all. Without commenting on the woman's muteness, the teacher moved on to Marshall, "Mr. Mann. Glad you could make it."

"Of course," Marshall was far more polite and didn't try to crush the other's fingers in a death grip. "I hope it's not an inconvenient time."

"No, of course not," Miss Newman insisted. "The class is at recess, and since school lets out in half an hour, the teacher next door said she'd take care of my group for the rest of the day."

"Splendid," Marshall reciprocated. And then, as though he were in charge of the meeting while Mary continued to seethe, "Shall we?"

And Miss Newman stepped aside, "Yes, please…"

Before entering, the male inspector shot his wife a look that definitely said he thought all would be well, that all would be solved if she would use her best manners and keep an open mind. She knew the twinkle in his blue eyes, the half-smirk on his face, far too well not to realize what he was trying to tell her. She just didn't believe it.

And so, behaving very much like a wounded rhino, Mary swept forth and allowed her partner to close the door in her wake, shutting out any eavesdroppers from their conversation.

Right away, she noticed that the principal was sitting behind a large wooden desk, her hands folded in front of her. Mrs. Hodges was a far cry from Miss Newman, who was petite and delicate-looking, her short brunette hair shoulder length and without frills. The principal, however, immediately prompted intimidation. She was heavyset, though by no means overweight, with her dyed blonde hair styled in an up-do on top of her head. Her eyes were stony and did not match the would-be-pleasant smile on her face, her jawbone jutting out, the lines around her nose taut.

"Mr. and Mrs. Shannon…" Mrs. Hodges began, striking an inept chord in Mary right off the bat. "Won't you take a seat?" she indicated the two chairs that had been set out for them in front of her desk.

Miss Newman mouthed soundlessly, as though trying to decide whether to correct her superior, but fortunately Marshall took care of that for her.

"Thank-you for having us in…" he was so cordial that Mary almost found it obnoxious in such an instance where she wanted to look foreboding. "I am Mr. Mann, actually, but it is a common mistake." Extending his hand for the second time, "Marshall Mann."

The woman took it, "Regina Hodges," she introduced herself. "Hard to believe we haven't met before now, but I am new to the district. You're Melissa Shannon's father?" glancing at a piece of paper in front of her.

While Miss Newman took her own seat on the far side of the desk, Mary decided the time had come for speaking up. There were too many mistakes being made when they had barely begun. And, as Mary had always refused to pinpoint how the various men in Melissa's life were connected to her, she wasn't going to start now – not even for 'Regina.'

"Marshall is my husband," the blonde cut in. And, before they could question any further or put any sort of label on it, "I'm Mary Shannon – I'm Melissa's mom."

Though very faint, she thought she could see a hint of disapproval in Mrs. Hodges' face, but pretended she hadn't. Apparently, second graders weren't the only ones who judged unfairly.

"All right then…" she said, abandoning her forms to face the partners directly. "Well, I know that Miss Newman thought it was time we scheduled a sit-down together, given that there have been many since Melissa started school here two years ago…"

For a kid who was so well-behaved and so personable, Mary couldn't believe they had conducted as many meetings as they had, but Regina was right.

"We can talk about where to go from here – design a plan of action – because, as I understand it, there have been accusations of bullying where Melissa is concerned," it was all so formal that Mary wanted to choke. "Courtney, would you like to take over here?" the principal turned to the teacher, and the mother guessed that 'Courtney' must've been Miss Newman's first name.

Shuffling her own file of papers, the younger woman nodded and cleared her throat. Mary couldn't tell for certain whether she was so anxious because of the two inspectors, or because of the principal, who was creating an air of terrorization all her own. Just the mention of the word 'bullying' was enough to send Mary into a tizzy, because she hated how cliché and trendy it sounded. Missy was being picked on. She was not being bullied. No one was beating her up.

Yet.

"I…I want to say…first of all…" Miss Newman stammered, but then managed to gather some courage and go on. "That, I just love Melissa. She's really a joy to have in class. She loves to be my little helper and if I ever need someone to run to the office or put papers in the mailboxes, she's right there…"

Mary frowned because, in spite of the compliments, she knew they were masking the bigger issues ahead. Marshall, however, beamed.

"We're certainly glad to hear that," he grinned. "She really wants to do well in school. Missy loves to learn."

Courtney gave a genuine giggle hearing the man refer to the child by her nickname.

"Well, and that too…" she went on. "I'm so impressed by how quickly she picks things up; she's a very bright little girl…"

"Thank-you," Marshall bowed his head humbly. "We've been working with her from an early age, but I think part of its ingrained – she's like a sponge. Takes it all in right away."

Mary wanted to tell her husband not to act so painfully gullible. Didn't he know that these people were luring them into a false sense of security? They were buttering them up, flattering Melissa left, right, and center so no one could say they didn't give a damn when they started in with the negativity. Mary was familiar enough with the signs. She'd spent many a year hearing words just like them while she sat swinging her feet in the hall and the receptionist at Plainfield Elementary tried to reason with a different mother over the phone – a mother who couldn't haul her drunken ass to the grade school if her life depended on it.

"_No, Miss Shannon, I understand…yes, we know about Mary's father, but she's having a hard time getting along with the other children…"_

Scowling at the memory, Mary knew that she and her daughter were not all that different, but in the woman's case she had been the tormentor – a far cry from gentle Melissa.

"Having said that…" Miss Newman went on, rambling right over Mary's thoughts. "I…I wouldn't want you to think for a minute that I want to transfer Melissa because she's a problem…"

"Transfer?" Mary butted in, unable to stay silent. "Transfer her where? We've been through this. You all wanted to send her to first grade when she was just in kindergarten, and we said no."

She felt Marshall's hand on her knee, willing her not to make a scene, but Mary had no patience for incompetence.

"I don't think having her skip the remainder of second grade is really in her best interests either; it's important for her to be with kids her own age…" the teacher rationalized. Stealing a look at the principal, "But, Mrs. Hodges and I have discussed the possibility…" she hedged, clearly wondering how this was going to go over. "We have an advanced program for students who are accelerated, and I think Melissa would really enjoy spending part of her day in another classroom with the more advanced children – third and fourth graders…"

"How much of the day?" Marshall asked evenly before Mary could get a word in, thinking this was surely too good to be true. "Half of it – all of it?"

"Perhaps just for an hour or two to start out," Miss Newman seemed encouraged that she had quieted Mary, at least momentarily. "Our gifted teacher is only in the building part-time anyway, but she's wonderful; students like Melissa really seem to enjoy the challenge…"

But, the blonde was not fooled, not even for a minute. She did believe that Miss Newman's intentions were sound – that she wanted Melissa to have the best experience possible in school, but something else smelled fishy, and she had the feeling Mrs. Hodges was behind it. This was why she directed her allegation toward the principal, leaving the teacher in the rearview.

"You'd rather put her in with the other brains than waste the energy trying to fix the fact that everybody in the class picks on her," she stated boldly. "If she's not in the room, they can't tease her as much."

While Mary knew that Marshall didn't want he and his wife to appear like they were at odds, she distinctly heard him sigh when she'd become confrontational. He was not a man who made assumptions, but Mary was a different story.

As it was, Mrs. Hodges narrowed her eyebrows, shuffling through the stack of papers perched in front of her. Miss Newman looked uncomfortable, but had the good sense to stay quiet if she didn't want Mary pissed at her as well.

"Mrs. Shannon, while we in no way promote any kind of bullying behavior, it cannot be denied that this school system has presented you with options for correcting Melissa's physical inadequacies…"

At this, it was impossible for Mary not to become unglued, and everything she was thinking spewed forth from her mouth before she could stop herself.

"Inadequacies?!" she had half a mind to stand up and smack the beefy individual in front of her, but refrained. "Are you telling me that just because we've refused assistance that it's okay for the other kids to rake her over the coals?!"

Miss Newman piped up, "No, Mrs. Shannon…" fortunately, she sounded serious in her endeavor. "Rest assured that I have spoken to my students many times about the way we need to treat one another in our classroom…" Now she appeared embarrassed, and her next phrase gave the reasoning behind it, "Unfortunately though, I cannot be everywhere at once, though I really try to motivate the children to be kind and to come to me if they see another student acting inappropriately…"

Glaring at Mrs. Hodges, Mary could be certain that these two women, despite the front they put forward, were not on the same page. The boss wanted to instill some sort of 'suck it up and get over it' mentality, whereas Miss Newman was clearly trying her best even if it didn't produce the desired results. None of this was of any solace to Mary.

"Mrs. Shannon…" the teacher continued, swallowing and clearly attempting to ignore the murderous look on the mother's face. "I do not want this to come out wrong…" that meant it likely would. "But, part of the reason I have trouble assessing Melissa's situation with the other children is because she never tells me if there's an issue. Whatever is occurring, it doesn't seem to bother her…"

"You concede that-that doesn't make it right," Marshall broke in humanely, but firmly.

"Of course not," Miss Newman agreed. "I really do think that having Melissa in a setting with students who are on her level intellectually will be an enormous help; meanwhile, I can keep working on promoting acceptable behavior in our classroom…"

"You said this would just be for a portion of the day?" Marshall decided to clarify, but Mary was still brooding, just waiting to get another two cents in. "What sort of activities can she expect?"

"That will be up to the gifted teacher, but she'll coordinate with me; it'll be individualized to suit Melissa…"

"It's isolating her," Mary concluded without really meaning to, but that was how it sounded. "And, I still want to know why her balance was even brought up," returning to Mrs. Hodges' heartless comment. "Is the fact that she trips on occasion really affecting her schoolwork?"

The principal sniffed contemptuously, "No, but allowing her to suffer that way makes her appear different in the eyes of her peers…"

"It isn't her fault!" Mary burst, and this time she did stand up, banging on the table so loudly that Marshall rose with her, knowing they were going to be kicked out if she didn't cool it.

Gripping her elbow, he hissed in her ear, "Do not behave like this; it will make it worse for Missy. Sit down."

Knowing there was truth in his words; Mary puffed and dropped back into her seat, reflecting that if the principal hated Mary she would not give her daughter the time of the day. It was fortunate they had Courtney on their side, but it was going to take some doing to change Regina's mindset, that was for sure.

Mary gave a gulp, tried to regain her composure, and then decided she could work off what she had just hollered, Marshall back by her side.

Looking into the faces of the almost viciously satisfied Mrs. Hodges and the flustered Miss Newman, she began in what she hoped was a mellow sort of tone.

"Melissa is fragile…" she couldn't believe she'd uttered such a thing, but if it elicited sympathy from this hard-nosed superior, she would pretend. "I mean, she's fine…" she corrected herself just for Marshall's sake. "But, she was born eight weeks premature…"

"Yes, that's in her file," Regina reminded them, but Mary ignored her.

"She spent a lot of time in the hospital and she's overcome a lot…" she would not go so far as to recount the story of the fire, which might prompt more mistrust than compassion. "I don't see how her equilibrium problems really matter, except that they're setting her apart from everyone else…"

Miss Newman picked up the thread, "I understand the struggle, Mrs. Shannon. With your permission, I'd like to talk to my students about why Melissa is slightly different than they are – why she's so little, why she is somewhat…uncoordinated," she was trying to be nice by not saying 'clumsy.' "I think with more awareness they might comprehend that this is not something she can control, and that it is wrong to make fun of her for it."

Truly caught off guard by the suggestion, Mary glanced at Marshall, who was looking somewhat impressed. The mother had never considered the possibility that anyone would have a potential solution to their problems; she had expected a knock-out, drag-down argument, which she'd very nearly put in motion. It was a little off-putting that she was now up against rationality, because it meant there were decisions to be made.

What were her options? She could bite the bullet and finally get Melissa some help for her unsteadiness, or she could see if the teacher's plan held any merit. But, Courtney airing their dirty laundry for a crowd of unsuspecting second graders was dicey. If they found out Melissa was so delicate, it might promote empathy, but it also might give them more reason to poke fun at her. They'd know she was defenseless.

"I…I don't know if it's such a good idea…"

Marshall leaned in, feigning as he often did that they were alone and could not be heard. He spoke so softly, so deftly, that it almost made Mary believe they were as alone as she wished they were.

"Why don't we think on it?" he whispered. "We don't have to put the kibosh on it right away…"

"Don't say kibosh…" she murmured back, but then turned to the other two ladies once more. "I don't know yet," she reversed her thinking only marginally. "Melissa may not want people knowing anything. Marshall and I will talk to her and see…"

"Of course," Miss Newman declared for what felt like the fifth time. "And I will absolutely continue trying to instill in the students that bullying is unacceptable…"

"What about the gifted program?" Mrs. Hodges wanted to know, speaking again for the first time in several minutes. "If you want to enroll Melissa, there are forms you will have to sign. Two parental guardians must give consent, which may pose a problem given how many contacts you have listed on the emergency form…"

Utterly baffled, Mary watched as Regina pulled forth a white slip of paper and displayed it for all to see. Mary definitely recognized it; it was the same document she had filled out when her daughter had first entered school. There was her name under the mother and primary caregiver portion, and then there were three names squeezed top to bottom on the second line, where Mary had crossed out 'father' and circled 'guardian.'

Missy's 'boys' had no title. There was no moniker, no label marking one as greater than the other. Since her first day of kindergarten, the mother had-had to ensure that she upheld her wishes in that area. No school, doctor's office, or gifted program was going to be allowed to think that a 'father' automatically signified ownership.

And there it was in black and white.

_Mother/Guardian: Mary Shannon_

_Father__/Guardian: Marshall Mann, Mark Stuber, Stanley McQueen _

_Emergency Contacts: Jinx Shannon, Brandi Alpert, Peter Alpert _

This was followed by a list of numbers and other important information, but all Mary could feel was the disdainful glower from Mrs. Hodges, who clearly thought such a form was bogus beyond words.

"Who exactly would you prefer to have sign off on Melissa's participation in the advanced curriculum?" she asked snidely. "We typically ask that it be the mother and father, if available, but there seems to be confusion in that area."

Mary was not going to be strong-armed or made to feel ashamed, "Father is a title," she shot back. "One we don't use in our house."

"How did you manage to turn this in without someone flagging it?" Regina wanted to know.

"Mr. Wallsmith was more understanding than you are."

"Mary…" Marshall spoke up before his wife became overtly rude. "Let's not go here…"

Mrs. Hodges was uninterested in his babble, "Who are these men?" she tapped a fingernail on all three. "Which one is Melissa's father? We will need his signature, or she will not be permitted to join the program."

What a trip, Mary thought, but she was more upset than angry this time. Miss Newman held no power here, and so she just fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair and waited for it to pass. Mary's mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to figure out what to say or do. It would be unwise of her to lose her temper again, but admitting that 'dad' was not Marshall was tormenting. Secretly, she had always thought of her husband as the closest thing to a father that Melissa had, but as she had stated, 'daddy' did not exist in the Shannon abode. The little girl had never needed a father. She needed a mother, the boys, her grandmother, aunt, and uncle. That was all. She'd survived as such for eight years, well-adjusted and proud.

Did it really need to change now? Would Mary admitting to it really make a difference?

Through the silence, she cast Marshall a look, a wordless 'I'm sorry.' She was worried about his ego. He, too, had always considered Missy his child.

But, in typical Marshall fashion, he was completely unruffled, "It doesn't matter…" he said in an undertone, and he sounded like he meant it. "We want what's best for Missy. My John Hancock next to some trivial slogan doesn't refute that."

How she loved him.

Swallowing, hating Regina with every fiber of her being, Mary gave it up.

"Mark Stuber is her father," she muttered stonily. "I can take the forms for him to sign."

She felt definite defeat as she watched the principal scratch right through the wording on the slip of paper and rewrite the names into different categories, making it a mess of monikers, but she'd gotten what she'd wanted. She'd wanted to feel like she was in charge and knock Mary down several pegs. She'd succeeded, something that was quite demoralizing for the inspector. And Regina didn't stop there.

"While we're on the subject, I think it's important that we nip this in bud…" she must be referring to the trilogy of males she'd just struck through with her pen. "Mark Stuber will be listed as the second primary caregiver. What would you like the order of emergency contacts to be?"

Mary chewed her lip and scowled deeply, unable to believe this woman could be so gallingly conventional, that she didn't grasp that some families were unique. Was this the definition of 'traditional values?' If so, every big wig in the school could stuff it.

"I listed emergency contacts," the blonde informed both educators. "Marshall and Stan can stay right where I put them, if it's all the same to you."

"Unfortunately, Mrs. Shannon, it is not all the same to me," Mrs. Hodges powered on. "The district is very specific about whom each school is allowed to phone in the event of a trauma…"

Fortunately, Marshall wasn't liking this either and wasted no time backing up his partner.

"This sounds like miniscule logistics," he decoded, politely befuddled, though Mary knew he was acting. "There are seven people on that form when you include the parents," he didn't specify who the supposed 'parents' were. "Isn't their designation insignificant? Mary signed on the dotted line; she's obviously giving you consent to call any of them…"

"Who is Stanley McQueen?" Regina interrupted, as though Marshall hadn't even spoken. "You're Melissa's step-father, yes?"

"If you _want_ to brand it," Marshall was not discourteous, but definitely stiff.

"Then, who is this other man?" she would not let up for a second. "If you're going to expect us to cooperate with one of seven different people on any given day, we need to ensure they are less than circumspect…"

"That shouldn't be a problem," Mary felt more in control now that she was certain Marshall was on her side, though she rarely doubted that. "Stanley McQueen is our boss; he is acting chief in the US Marshal Division of the Albuquerque police department." Folding her arms over her chest and smirking, she sealed the deal, "If you _want_ to brand it."

Somewhat boosted by the tag-team effort of Mary and Marshall, Miss Newman finally gathered enough gumption to take a stand against her boss, although it was a meager one. Mary was not offended; she certainly didn't want this young lady to lose her job going to bat for people she barely knew.

"From what I understand, Mrs. Hodges…" her voice was small, but she kept on. "From what Melissa tells me anyway, she spends quite a bit of time with Marshall, Mark, and Stan; I've never heard her mention her dad. It sounds like all of these men are a combined effort in her upbringing…" She looked suddenly shy about sharing and backpedaled, "Unless I'm wrong…?" stealing glances at Mary and Marshall to top it off.

"You're not," the woman spat.

"A child has two parents," Mrs. Hodges proved she was old-school all the way, forming a fist on her gargantuan wooden desk. "Two."

Mary's patience had run out, but she did not blow her top this time. Smoothly and slowly, she drew herself out of her chair and was pleased to have Marshall join her – her sidekick through and through. She was suddenly reminded of the pair of them going to visit Agent O'Conner and taking him to the mound. This was almost as satisfying.

With conviction and forthrightness in every letter, Mary gave her final word.

"Not this child."

With a flourish, she grabbed the pen that the principal had relinquished and drew another, darker and fatter line through the word 'father,' turned on her heel, and swept from the office, leaving two stunned faces in her wake. She felt badly about walking out on Miss Newman, who had seemed like she was trying to help, but the dramatic exit was essential to making her point.

In the main office, Melissa was waiting with her backpack, arms folded on the secretary's desk, chatting her up. As school was nearly over, it made no sense for her to stay the remaining fifteen minutes while her mother stewed in the car. Mary didn't even pause for her daughter to notice her; more anxious than ever to leave, she gripped her shoulder, guiding her to the door.

"Come on, sweets. We're done here."

But, Melissa ignored her mother and instead turned to Marshall, who had fortunately had the presence of mind to grab the all-important gifted-program forms.

"What'd they say?" she wanted to know, but she wasn't nervous in the least.

"We'll talk about it at home," Marshall promised her. "You ready to hit the road?"

Missy nodded, "Could Stan come over or not?" she hadn't forgotten her wish from that morning.

Mary was glad she had good news on this front, occupied with her little girl while Marshall signed her out.

"He said he could spare a minute or two," she informed Melissa of what their boss had said when they'd gone into work earlier in the day. "He wants to see that model airplane, all right."

"Oh, really?" the child's face fell for a brief moment. "Because I was thinking I'd rather show him how I'm learning to roller skate instead, especially if Mark's coming too, because he hasn't seen me yet either."

Mary was leery of this suggestion, "I don't know, Melissa; you still fall down quite a bit…"

"But, I'm getting better!" she insisted. "Please! Mark will come, won't he?" he often dropped by once he got off work. "And, Marshall can hold my hands at first."

Mary wouldn't commit right away, mostly because her mind was still in their meeting. However, all she could think about in this moment was that she hoped Regina Hodges, purist or not, was listening to the joy radiating from every syllable expelling from Melissa's mouth when she talked about the three most wonderful men to walk planet earth.

XXX

**A/N: The first few chapters are really long LOL! I'm not sure how that happened. They taper a little after, but then go back to being long. I never know if people want to read the really lengthy installments, but I guess I can't be stopped! Thank-you again for the reviews!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: There should be more innovative ways to say thank-you! When I figure one out, I will use it, but as it is – thank-you! This is a big chapter! It's long, but I hope it is worth reading because everything begins here!**

XXX

Mary didn't enjoy having her house full of people after enduring a stressful afternoon. Indeed, she would've much preferred that the entourage that lingered go on their merry way, but she didn't want to disappoint Melissa. Between Stan stopping in, plus Mark's usual after-solar-panels visits, and Brandi showing up to give her niece's old crib the once over, the tiny living room began to feel like a funhouse very fast. It was this that had Mary conceding defeat and allowing her daughter to go for a stroll on her roller skates in the front yard. She felt like she was suffocating in the house.

Brandi, in particular, took up more than her share of space these days. She was two weeks from her due date and nearing the vastness that Mary had been at only thirty-two weeks gestation, the furthest she'd ever got. The elder sister found it particularly grating that the younger Shannon was a more normal-sized pregnant woman, and her son was likely to come out twice the size of Melissa.

Because it was October, after the Shannon siblings had inspected the currently unused crib, they set up shop on the front porch to watch the boys try to give Melissa some skating tips. Her already poor steadiness didn't make mastering the skill very easy, but she was determined. Mary thought it would at least be simpler than trying to ride a bicycle. The air was growing crisper and cooler, especially once the sun started to go down, but the changing leaves in bursts of red and orange meant that autumn was definitely in full swing. Neighboring houses had already started adorning their windows and front lawns with Halloween decorations, something Mary absolutely refused to do.

"You want a chair, Squish?" Mary inquired of her sister where they were perched next to one another on the steps. "Because I wouldn't count on me to haul your ass up if you get stuck down here."

Brandi giggled, drumming her fingers on her rotund belly, "I'm fine…" but Mary saw the way she was leaning against one of the posts that framed the doorway. "You wouldn't have let a little extra weight slow you down, right?"

"A little extra," Mary scoffed, anything to keep her mind from the events of the afternoon. "You're reaching jumbo jet status."

Brandi just shook her head with a smirk playing around her lips, her mind with Mary but her eyes with Melissa. Marshall was leading her down the sidewalk, holding both of her hands in his, but every few slides or so, one of the wheels would invariably hitch on a crack, nearly sending the little girl sprawling to the pavement. The man always caught her before she toppled completely, Mark cheering her on from nearby, Stan in the grass with his thumbs in his pockets.

"How'd it go today?" the younger didn't take the hint that Mary wasn't interested in discussing the conference. "Marshall said earlier in the week that you were pretty nervous about talking to the principal and everything…"

"She was a bitch," Mary stated bluntly, glad her daughter wasn't around to hear. "She tried to make this huge to-do out of Melissa's, 'my three dads' routine. Someone has unresolved issues," the woman had already decided.

"Was it really that bad?" Brandi wanted to know, keen for more. "Did they try to get you to do something about Missy's wobbling all the time?"

The blonder knew that Mary despised being told that Melissa needed any kind of 'repair' and so she was careful in how she phrased the question. A niece, impending motherhood, and several years of marriage had reformed Brandi for the better. Mary found her much easier to talk to than in the days of old.

"We've had her checked out…" the inspector reminded them both. "Just before she turned five. The doctors said it wasn't anything to worry about; she just has a screwy equilibrium because she was born early. Just like her eyesight. Nothing to write home about."

"I know that," Brandi grew impatient. "But, that doesn't mean the school's been on top of it. Do they want you to do something about it?"

"Even if they did, I wouldn't," Mary was firm on this fact. "No matter what Marshall says," she added, because everyone in the vicinity knew that the man had been lobbying to correct the problem for years. "No…her teacher wants to put her in some egghead class for part of the day; she'll be fraternizing with third and fourth graders…"

Mary tried to make this sound like it was no big deal at all; mostly because she didn't want Brandi to get the wrong impression about the sit-down they'd had in that darkened office. The meeting really had not gone well, in spite of a portion of the end results. It was apparent that Mrs. Hodges was going to be of no assistance to Melissa if things continued to go south in the bullying department.

Predictably though, Brandi was optimistic, "That's good, isn't it?" she figured, leaning up on her elbows a little and stretching her back. "She really is so smart, Mare; you don't want her to be bored out of her skull all the time…"

"You weren't there…" the other groused. "They're not doing shit about these kids giving her a hard time."

"Well, maybe in the new class she'll make some friends and it won't be such a big thing anymore," Brandi surmised. "Not that she needs friends when this crew is around…" she pointed out the men, who were making fools of themselves as usual.

"Jesus, she said the exact same thing…"

"Who did?"

"Melissa!" Mary barked, growing edgy herself. "She gave me that same old tired line this morning about how she doesn't need a bunch of other rug rats to run around with because of the trio, and it is absolute bull."

Brandi frowned, but didn't get worked up, "Why do you say that?"

"Because it makes her…" it felt as though Mary had already alluded to what was coming many times before, and this irritated her. "It just makes her…"

But, her little sister guessed before she could get the words out, "Different?"

Mary had half a mind to tell Brandi it was annoying that she could be so perceptive when she'd spent so many years being a ditz who ran around in bikinis even if there was no pool nearby. She didn't need another person in her life forcing her to face to reality, to convince her that 'different' meant 'unique.' She had-had that speech from Marshall far too many times.

But, something told her she was going to hear it from Brandi yet again.

"Mare, I know that Missy doesn't deserve what's coming to her, but she's _so_ happy…" it was jarring the way she emphasized the second-to-last word. "Really, would you have it any other way? Would you really just ask Mark and Stan to take a step back so she can be more like the other kids?"

Pursing her lips and glaring, the taller saw that there was no decent way out of this. No response – no truthful response, anyway – would really refute what Brandi was saying. There was a first time for everything.

"You know you wouldn't," the younger decided almost without giving Mary time to rebuttal. "This is normal for her, and that's really all that matters."

Mary had to get a word in, even if she was just deflecting the topic at hand.

"Yeah. Hell of a world for Bruiser here to come into…" she jerked her head at the bump Brandi was sporting, using the ambiguous nickname she had given her claim to aunthood since they'd found out it was a boy. "He's gonna feel deprived something awful with Peter as the only dude to spoil him."

Fortunately, Brandi took the bait and didn't dwell on Melissa's distinctive nature, "I'm pretty sure I'll be spoiling him enough for the both of us. Plus you and Marshall."

"Well, Marshall does tend to go overboard in that department."

Another glance at the gang showed the gentleman himself trying to give his step-daughter a little more freedom, allowing her to skid a few paces on the concrete without his support. It didn't appear to be going well, as Melissa reached for hands the minute she felt herself begin to waver, but she was undaunted. Mark had moved a little closer, there to be a cushion if the wheels on the skates began to veer. Stan, on his cell phone, had stepped away for a moment, probably to take a call from the office.

"Speaking of…" now that they were on the subject of the baby, Brandi was going to run with it. "Is that old crib of Missy's collapsible? I don't think I can get it home otherwise…"

"I don't know why you're lobbying for a crib anyway," Mary shook her head. "This kid's going to be a half-pint; you don't want him falling through the bars. Get a bassinet."

"Do you have one?" Brandi raised her eyebrows deviously and grinned.

Feigning that she was annoyed, but secretly glad to be helping Brandi to move even further onward with her life, the elder sister sighed and gave the verdict.

"Yeah, it's probably in the basement somewhere…" Melissa had been in her bassinet longer than most due to her small stature. "You want to take a look?"

"Sure…"

Mary stood up first, light on her feet and dusting the butt of her jeans with her hands to ensure she wasn't caked in dirt or leaves from the front porch. Brandi was slower, using one of the foundation supports she'd previously been lounging against for assistance.

"Hey! French Hens!" Mary called to the boys, using one of her many monikers for the group signifying that there were three of them.

Marshall took pause, Melissa swinging into him and grappling onto his jeans to keep from tipping. While she giggled, the man righted her and Mark looked up, expectant as well. Stan, still on his call, stayed put.

"We're going scouting for some ankle-biter-bounty," she announced. "Please don't let my kid crack her head open."

"At your service!" Marshall replied jauntily.

"Let me know if you need help carrying anything," Mark offered.

"Mmm hmm…" Mary squinted in the setting sun, Brandi smirking pleasantly beside her before the two of them retreated back inside, the mother with one last anxious look at her child before departure.

Marshall, meanwhile, was invigorated to be out in the fresh air, happy to help Melissa overcome whatever task she set her mind to. They were very alike in that way, although Mary was no stranger to going nonstop until she achieved what she wanted to.

"You ready to try again?" Mark asked, meandering all the way over and removing Melissa's glasses to wipe them free of smudges. "How do you see when these are so dirty?" he wanted to know, abandoning his original question for a moment.

"It's kind of like trying to look through clouds…" the girl offered; hand over her eyes like a visor to block the setting sun. "It's neat…"

"Well, you'll never be able to skate if you can't see where you're headed," Marshall surmised. "So, once those babies are spruced up, we will be ready to roll again. You know, _roll_…" he placed an accent on the final word in order to press his joke. "Get it – roll, like skates?"

Melissa got it all right, but she just shook her head and gave him her best look of exasperation while Mark groaned, replacing her spectacles with ease.

"Bad one, Marshall…" she told him unabashedly. "Mom would be hitting the back of your head if she'd heard it."

"And lord knows I am sensitive in that area…" the man had been smacked there many times before, and ran his fingers over the tender spot with fondness. "But, come on, I thought it was a decent pun."

"We'll forgive you for being less than quick on your feet," Mark quipped, for the two of them were close enough now that he could pass on such a josh. "Let's get cracking, Missy Jean…"

Licking her lips in fresh determination, Melissa nodded and remounted her stance, balancing by spreading her feet somewhat far apart, allowing Marshall to hang onto her fingers while she got situated.

"Don't pick up your feet so much this time…" the step-father advised pointedly. "It's more of a glide – stand in a little bit of a straddle…"

With Mark's help, he managed to rearrange the child so one foot was behind the other, though it was apparent she wouldn't be able to stand like that for very long. She teetered precariously, anchored only by the two boys keeping her secure.

"Try pushing off with your back foot as you bring it in front, and then start wheeling with the other…"

"But, you told me not to pick my feet up!" Melissa protested.

"Well, you will have to a little…" Marshall conceded. "You'll get the feel of it; we just have to try a few different ways."

A sigh proceeded this announcement, but Marshall knew she wouldn't give up. Fortunately, before they set off this time, Stan returned, pocketing his cell with an exhale of his own.

"Sorry, gang…" he apologized, his bald pate shining in the half-light of the early evening. "The work never ends, I swear."

"You didn't miss anything," Melissa promised. "Just me falling down a lot."

"Ah, these things take time, captain…" Stan patted her head sympathetically. "Good thing I didn't fail to notice you cruising along while I had my nose to the grindstone."

"That means you work too hard, doesn't it?" the girl guessed, blinking up at him, having heard the expression before.

"That's my smart cookie," Stan praised. "Now, show me what you got."

Gripped with fresh fortitude now that she had her usual adoring crowd around her, Missy attempted to follow Marshall's directions, but it was a definite case of easier said than done. After a few ungraceful slips and skids on the pesky ruts in the sidewalk, she was back on the ground and rubbing the knees of her overalls free of dirt.

"I'm never gonna learn…" she moaned dispiritedly, smudging her pants worse when she streaked with her hands. "My feet won't do what my brain says…"

Stan chuckled, "I've been there," he told her. "But, I'm thinking this bumpy sidewalk is part of the problem," scuffing the pavement with his shiny black shoes. "You might have better luck on a smoother surface."

Gazing around for inspiration, Melissa's eyes immediately caught the abandoned neighborhood street right in front of them – unspoiled, even, jet black asphalt with no gravel, sticks, or acorns to obstruct her roller skating quest. Whipping her head around, she grinned artfully at Marshall, knowing that it was going to take some hefty convincing to allow him to leave the confines of the front drive.

"Can I try in the road, Marshall?" she inquired sweetly. "Please?"

With a half-exasperated, half-amused glance at Stan, the mentioned was indeed reluctant, "I think that one may be a negative, Little Missy," he stated. "I know it's quiet during this time of day, but I don't like the idea of you out where cars are driving…"

"You'll be with me," she bargained. "You could move me real quick if someone drove down…"

"You're heavier with those skates," Marshall pointed out, though it was a futile excuse at best; everyone knew Missy was light as a feather. "It'll be like carting around a sack of bricks."

"You're teasing," Melissa shook her head, not to be fooled by stories about her step-father's lack of prowess. "Come on, the wheels keep getting stuck on all the leaves and sticks and stuff…" she pointed to the ground for emphasis. "It'll be easier in the street."

It was hard to argue with a girl so intelligent, but Mark had to bring up one very important aspect that was sure to call a halt to the entire ordeal.

"Mary won't like it…" his eyes were with Marshall, not Melissa, and the other man nodded solemnly. "She told you stay in the yard, Missy Jean, remember?" he turned to the child this time.

"But she's _inside!_" the girl complained. "She wouldn't even see me! And, if I learned, then I could show her and she'd be really happy, because then I wouldn't fall so much anymore. She hates it when I fall."

Stan, who perhaps felt he had to make up for concocting the idea in the first place, chimed in, "There's no denying that," he conceded. "But, rules are rules, captain. Two out of three are saying no – three out of four if you count your mom."

"Well, I _wasn't_ counting her," Melissa turned prissy in a hurry. "She never lets me do anything because she's afraid I'll trip. Even when I was little, all I could do was run."

It was funny to hear Melissa refer to herself as 'little' when she was still so miniature and only eight years old, but Marshall knew what she meant. Mary was very protective, and for good reason, but her shielding nature often got the better of her sometimes. In its own way, it held Melissa back, and given what she was already going through concerning the other kids in her class, she didn't need to be beaten down any further.

And so, because the day was so delightfully chilly, the sun was still out, and Marshall was proud of having a child who was bright enough to identified as 'gifted,' he changed his mind and gave in. It wasn't so unusual that he would cave. Melissa carried his heart around on a string.

"All right, come on…" he allowed her somewhat begrudgingly over the curb, Mark escorting her from behind so she wouldn't stumble all over again. "We'll have to be really careful though, okay? The minute we hear a car, we're back in the driveway."

"Okay-okay!" Missy was eager to make her attempt on a different plane. "I'll listen hard!"

Listening hard didn't become much of an issue when Mary returned to the porch, bellowing through the door just as Marshall froze on the yellow line in the middle of the road, sure he was about to be reprimanded. His wife took care of the reason she'd shown her face again first.

"Could one of you stooges come in here and help with some boxes?" she wanted to know, cupping her hands around her mouth to achieve ample volume. "All this baby crap that Brandi needs is buried on the top shelves in the basement."

Mary was only asking so they could be done faster, not because she wasn't perfectly capable of climbing a ladder on her own and retrieving said boxes. She simply didn't like envisioning some scenario where she mounted the rickety steps and fell over backward onto poor, unsuspecting pregnant Brandi. Better to have all hands on deck.

"I'll go…" Mark volunteered, as he was used to heavy lifting from his work with solar panels. "Get some good practice in, Missy Jean. I'll want to see a champion by the time I'm back," he joked, already jogging across the lawn to the house.

Surprisingly, Stan decided to head in as well, "I'm gonna go too. That call was a work thing…" he indicated his phone in his breast pocket. "I need to check a few logistics with Mary."

"Perfect," Marshall decided. "That means Missy and I will be able to prepare quite the show for you," referring to the currently lackluster roller skating. "Maybe I could get a cape and a hat and don some skates of my own. What do you think?"

Melissa laughed, but Stan just wagged his head at Marshall's antics. Meanwhile, Mary had taken to squinting in their direction now that Mark had gone inside to assist Brandi. She looked highly suspicious, even at a distance, and Marshall didn't have to guess to figure out why.

"What are you doing?!" she called from her post to ensure that Marshall would hear her.

"Practicing…!" he was truthful at first, if not expertly vague.

Mary wasn't about to have them put one over on her, "Why are you in the street?"

Missy took care of this one, "It's too hard on the sidewalk!" she insisted. "I'll be super careful, mom! Marshall's helping me!"

Obviously weary, but not going to press the point, Mary took pause for only a moment before nodding shortly and turning to go back inside, not before adding a hearty, "Watch for cars!" before departure.

Quiet seemed to settle heavily once everyone left the outdoors to just Marshall and Melissa; the breeze carried its own gentle hum, accompanied by the birds chirping in the distance and those autumn leaves that had yet to fall crackling in the high trees above. Marshall used the opportunity to scoot Melissa still further across the road so they had the entire expanse between houses on either side to work with. The street was virtually silent, and likely would be for another half hour before those on the nine to five shift started to arrive home.

"All right, we'll have to see what we can do here…" the man began. "I don't want mom to be reading me the riot act if you get as scraped up out here as you would on the sidewalk."

"It's gonna be better," Missy was certain. "I can tell already. Maybe I won't even need you to hold onto me after a few times!"

"Before we get too ahead of the game, let's try it once," he advised. "The same way we did before; I'll hang onto you."

After spending a minute getting into position and preparing for takeoff, Marshall eventually started to guide the child across, patiently directing her feet in the proper directions. She was shaky and definitely had to pitch forward a few times, but it was a marked improvement without question. Eliminating so many obstructions was a big plus.

On their way back from the Shannon house to the other side of the street, Melissa struck up conversation, eyes glancing to her feet and back up at Marshall every few seconds or so as she spoke.

"Marshall…?" her voice was definitely hesitant, but she powered on as she skated.

"Hmm?" he was trying to keep his mind on holding her upright.

"Do you think I'm a klutz?"

At this, he stopped, though was dense in doing so without telling Melissa, because she skittered into him with the abrupt halt and he was forced to catch her. Once he was certain she was stable, he gave her question real thought, furrowing his brows and looking into that innocent, beautiful face. Her blonde hair was almost gold in the sunlight, her green eyes slightly dulled beneath her glasses.

"No," he said at once, firmly and distinctly. "I think you're lacking the proper distribution of weight or forces that would provide you with an adequate balance, therefore you are existing without sufficient equilibrium."

Had Mary been around; she would have rolled her eyes quite spectacularly. As it was, the look Melissa was giving him wasn't so far off. She really did look like Mary when her face arranged itself the right way.

She sighed, "That's a fancy way of saying 'klutz.'"

Knowing his intellectual terminology wasn't going to fly this time, the inspector resigned himself to a more natural approach.

"Missy, you're just a little off-center. That's it. I would never say you're a klutz because it's mean; it's taking something that you cannot control and turning it around so that it sounds like you're lacking – like you _can_ control it, like it's your fault."

She shrugged this time, "It's what the other kids call me," for the first time, she was admitting that those 'sticks and stones' did have a bit of an effect on her psyche, no matter how she was able to cast them off. "They say I'm a klutzy shrimp, and I know they think I'm weird because I don't have a dad."

The last target was of a more sensitive nature, and so Marshall decided to skip over it.

"Well, mom and I talked to your teacher about that this afternoon," he promised her. "She's thinking that you might like to try going into a different classroom for part of the day. She knows how smart you are, and in this class you'd be with other kids who are just as smart as you – which is not to say the other second graders are _not_ smart," he was quick to clarify. "The first dumb thing they did was make fun of you."

"Wouldn't they make fun of me more if they think I'm going to some special class?" she looked doubtful, and Marshall was reminded of the other topic they needed to broach, which was whether or not to confide in the other students how Melissa came to be so undersized and lopsided. "They'll think I'm different."

Like mother, like daughter.

"You _are_ different," Marshall said it proudly. "Everybody is. I don't want you to shy away from it, and I know I would love it if you would try this new class. I really think you might like it."

"Do I have to decide right now?"

"No," he would not bombard her. "You think about it, and we'll talk about it with mom down the road."

Melissa frowned and then set herself up to start skating once more. Marshall recognized the movements and took one hand instead of both this time, walking beside her to give her a bit of a head start back to their own driveway.

"Mom probably doesn't want me to do it," she figured as she hobbled along, proving where her scowl had originated from. "She wishes I was like everyone else."

"She doesn't, Missy," Marshall was quick to defend Mary. "Not really. It just upsets her that the other kids don't see how wonderful you are. Trust me, if you want to go into the gifted program, she will be just fine with it."

"That's what it's called, then?" she latched onto the phrase while simultaneously loosening her clasp on Marshall's single hand. "Gifted sounds strange. Like I got a present or something."

"In a way, it is sort of like that," Marshall explained. "How sharp you are is a gift – that's where the term came from, I surmise."

"And from you, right?"

The man couldn't help being touched by this view on things. In reality, he bore no responsibility for Melissa's mental power, as they shared not one strand of DNA, not one drop of blood. But, Missy didn't actually know that. Several years before, around the time she'd turned five, Mary had sat her down and asked if she wanted to know which of the three men in her life her 'real' father was. And, surprising all of them, Missy had said no. A little genius even then, she had claimed it didn't matter, and the adults had been inclined to agree.

"Don't discount your mom, now," Marshall gave Mary her credit to avoid talking about what she had just brought up. "She's no dummy either."

"Well, how'd she get so smart then?" Melissa was picking up speed as they were almost halfway across the street, chugging along almost by herself, and Marshall wanted to caution her to watch her step. "From Jinx? From her dad?"

"Smarts are hard work too," Marshall reminded her. "Sometimes nobody makes you that way – it's your own desire. There's a lot of that in mom."

"Well, I knew she didn't get it from her dad anyway," the child all-but scoffed. "Robbing banks is really stupid."

"You got that right."

"Maybe I will try it…" she broke free this time, forgetting to hang on.

"Missy, go slow…"

But, she didn't listen, "I'd get to be with the big kids, right? Maybe they're nicer than the kids in my class…"

Marshall disregarded this, seeing the way her arms had begun wind-milling in her effort to stay vertical. But, her mind was only centered on her thoughts, not on the bodily duty at hand.

"Hey, pay attention – give me your hand…"

But, it was too late. Melissa's feet slipped out from under her, both rolling in opposite directions so she nearly did the splits when she came down. Only Marshall, in his desperation not to see her get hurt, grabbed her arm, jumped in front of her and tried to pull her aloft. His decision was a poor one, as she was already so off-balance that she careened hard and fast into his torso, landing them both in a tangled heap.

Somewhat embarrassed, Marshall was glad there was no one around to see them, but Missy had collapsed heavily onto his entire frame, mostly due to his bad judgment. But, his right ankle had bent awkwardly beneath her weight, leading him to believe he might've incurred a sprain. This only worried him about how badly Melissa might be injured.

Fortunately, she was still in his lap, wheels whirring on the skates, knees balled as she tried to unravel herself.

"Ouch…" she moaned, rubbing her backside.

"Are you okay?" Marshall asked immediately. "What hurts?"

"Just my butt…" she told him, and managed to crawl onto the ground so Marshall could free himself. However, once she was seated on the blacktop, she saw him wincing and holding his ankle, which produced guilt in a hurry. "Oh no…" she sounded sad. "I broke your ankle!"

"You didn't break it…" Marshall assured her, though it was sore and he was pretty sure it was unstable enough that he wouldn't be able to walk on it right away. "It just twisted a little bit. I brought it on myself trying to snatch you up."

Now that she knew he was all right, Missy shook her head disapprovingly, "Mom is gonna be _mad_ at _you_."

Marshall gave a grim chuckle, "She'd be a lot madder if it were you who had sprained something."

Leaning back on her haunches, Melissa surveyed her step-father critically, watched him inspect his mangled ligaments, and waited to be told what to do next. After a moment or two, Marshall attempted to stand up, pushing off with his palm, but could tell almost at once by the way his whole foot throbbed and pulsated that it was not going to be able to support his weight. Falling back with a groan, he knew he was going to have to send Missy inside to fetch someone who could help him get to his feet.

"Go get mom, would you?" he requested. "Or Mark or Stan – not Brandi. Tell them what happened and that I need a hand."

"How am I supposed to get back to the curb?" she wondered, for they were slumped in the middle of the road. "I can't skate that far by myself."

"Unlace them and carry them," Marshall instructed. "I'll help you with the knots…"

But, that was when he heard it. A hum at first, like that of a heater or oven when you opened the door. The hum, and then the tires rotating, hooking the pavement and revolving round-and-round as they picked up speed. And finally, the engine – a blare accompanied the choking of a bad muffler and the pounding bass sounding out of an overworked CD player.

Melissa's head turned at the same moment Marshall's did, and they both saw the sleek black pick-up truck trundle around the corner, zooming in what looked like slow-motion, but what was probably twenty-five or thirty miles an hour.

Marshall's heart began to pound and a whirl of escape plans whizzed through his mind at lightning speed. Only, lightning speed wasn't quick enough. They were two humans, one with a bad ankle and another with roller skates bolted to her feet. They were no match for a truck.

"There's a car!" Melissa's voice inched up several octaves and, like the intelligent girl she was, she scrambled onto her knees and tried to make a break for the driveway, but the skates held her down and she fell onto her hands the minute she tried to rise. "Marshall, it's a truck!" as if he couldn't see it.

"Get back on the curb," he demanded, trying his hardest not to shout and scare her, but it wasn't easy. "Get back on the curb – go, now!"

"But, I can't skate!"

"Crawl!" he ordered further, and was going to attempt to do the same himself, or else to stand if it killed him so the driver could see that they were sitting there. "On your knees – fast!"

The sound of the engine's roar was growing louder and louder. Melissa seemed paralyzed with fear even as she scooted along back to the driveway, wasting far too much time looking over her shoulder to see if the vehicle was still coming.

"Faster – go, I'm coming!" Marshall promised her, but he would've done well to creep beside her for all the good trying to go mobile did him. "I'm coming…"

Missy was nearly there when she made a horrible, gut-wrenching, and yet not all-together unexpected decision. She saw Marshall struggling, still slumped all alone on the yellow line, and started back the way she'd come.

"Missy, no! Go back!"

"I can't leave you by yourself!"

"Go back!"

"I'll pull you with me!"

But, her valiant efforts were in vain. Marshall sprung to his feet, his injured ankle shaking, and faced the frame of a monstrous, deafeningly loud mouth of a truck burning rubber too fast to slow down. The driver, whose face the inspector was unable to make out, suddenly saw him appear in the road as though from nowhere and slammed on his breaks. Melissa, perhaps scared back to the grass by the awful screech, dove for the safety of her driveway.

The last thing Marshall saw was her falling to the ground, all hands, belly, face, and heavy skated feet, enveloped by sanctuary, truck-free on the other side.

XXX

**A/N: And, the drama starts! Whatever will happen next? I hope it lives up to its promise!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: My ring of reviewers may be small, but I couldn't ask for better! All about quality! A big shout-out to carajiggirl, who was kind enough to pen a blog post promoting my stories to other IPS fans. Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you!**

**This chapter is pretty heavy on the drama; hopefully I don't take it too far.**

XXX

"What was that?"

The quad having returned from the basement, Stan inquired after hearing what sounded like Melissa's voice – shouting a phrase reminiscent of, "I can't skate!" Assuming the little girl was still having trouble with the activity; he shook his head and chortled.

"Sounds like the captain's getting discouraged again…"

"I told Marshall that, bike or not, the whole roller skates thing is not going to fly…" Mary commented from behind him, Mark and Brandi in her wake. "Maybe she can take up hula-hooping or something."

"Hula-hooping isn't really a sport, is it?" Brandi forecasted as they made their way back to the front door. "I don't actually know if roller skating is either…"

"Roller derby, though," Mark piped up. "You ever catch sight of the costumes on those broads?"

But Mary, who would have ordinarily had quite a remark to accompany the thought of her daughter engaging in roller derby, had now heard what Stan was talking about. Pausing in step, she definitely recognized Melissa's voice, but there was something wrong with it. Though distant and tinny through the wooden door, there was no mistaking the urgency.

"Those gals have some stellar names too…" Brandi was still gabbing about roller derby.

"I'm not sure we can go that far with Melissa," Mark stated just as the little sister's jutting belly rammed into Mary's sedentary form.

"Mare, what are you doing?"

The woman swallowed, "Listen…" she strained her ears, knowing she should just go outside if she was worried, but her feet wouldn't move anymore. "What are they doing out there…?"

After a second of silence, Brandi seemed to conclude that Mary was deluded and brushed it off.

"It's nothing, let's just…"

"_Missy, no! Go back!"_

In an instant, Mary's legs began working once more and they carried her the rest of the way to the door, but the minute she turned the knob and thrust open the hatch, she heard the squeal of the tires, saw what looked like steam rise in clouds from the four black wheels. But, that noise, eerie by itself, was nothing compared to what came next.

Mary knew, even as it all unfolded right in front of her, that she would never, ever forget the sound that writhed like coils of twisted, strident snakes into the cloudless autumn afternoon. It would haunt her in her nightmares, would follow her in the most unexpected moments – when she buttered her toast, perused the morning paper, brushed her teeth, turned out the lights, met with a new witness, gave the waiter his tip, and put her head to pillow at night. This noise, disgusting and icy, bone-chilling like nails on a chalkboard would never, ever leave her.

It was Melissa's scream.

Higher-pitched than even the birds, more distraught than one buried in an earthquake or sucked up in a tornado, she shrieked like someone had set her on fire, like she was caught in a vise grip by the hand of death and the hand just wouldn't stop squeezing.

The smoke was too thick to see what had happened at first. All Mary could register was that cry, and then a second horrifying thought came to her.

Where was Marshall?

"NO! NO!"

Melissa's wail formed a single word and as the dust settled, Mary recognized a figure that made her heart catapult into her throat and choke her nearly to death. Marshall was in the road. Immobile, still, and silent, he was lying in the street right in front of an enormous black truck. The truck had hit him.

The minute this thought formed, Mary bolted, all adrenaline and nothing more. In the hours to come, she wouldn't know all the steps that everyone around her took to ensure that no one else was run over, that no one else was injured, that the person who had done this was going to be held responsible.

"Jesus…no…" unlike her daughter's cutthroat shriek, Mary's lips were barely moving, but her legs were busy flying. "No…no…no…Marshall…!" and her voice grew louder the longer she ran. "STAN!"

But, Stan was already there beside her. Mark was there too, Brandi standing in shock with her hand over her mouth. Everything came in bursts and flashes of color – words and phrases that filtered into Mary's mind at random. Nothing made sense. Nothing fit. Nothing was real except that Marshall was flat on the ground, his cheeks bruised and dirt-streaked, his eyes closed, his mind dark.

"Stan, he's unconscious! Stan!"

"Get out of the car! Get out! Hands on the hood! Let's go!"

"I didn't see him! I didn't see him, I swear!"

"I want Marshall! I want Marshall – is he okay?!"

"Missy, no – get up here!"

"I WANT MARSHALL!"

"You're bleeding! Come here! Brandi, come here!"

"I'm a US Marshal, asshole! Get your hands on the hood or you're getting cuffed right now!"

"You can't go over there; Brandi, get her inside!"

"I tried to help him back over! He hurt his ankle! He hurt his ankle and he couldn't walk and I couldn't walk in my skates!"

"Honey, you're hurt; mom and Stan are taking care of Marshall…"

"His eyes aren't open! Why won't he open his eyes?!"

"Mark, help me; I can't…"

"The guy's over six feet tall; you expect me to believe you didn't see him?!"

"I didn't! The minute I did I slammed on my breaks!"

It was all a jumbled mess of nonsense to Mary, who found herself with her knees digging into the asphalt as she knelt over her husband, patting his cheeks and trying to force him into awareness, but the longer she slapped the more disheartened she became. No matter how hard her fingers made contact, no matter how she shouted, Marshall wouldn't wake up, and everything swirling in the hazy atmosphere over her head was enough to have her fainting on the spot.

She ascertained very few things from every letter that made its way into her brain. Mark had grabbed Melissa by the arm and picked her up when she'd tried to streak back into the road. Some part of her, maybe her hands or her knees, were bleeding, but Mary didn't know why. He'd obviously had a time of it trying to corral her, for her screams indicated she was hysterical. Brandi had materialized so the pair of them could drag her back inside.

Stan was dealing with the miscreant who had done this, playing the badass Marshal to a T, but Mary only had eyes for the man in front of her, whose skin seemed to be paling by the second.

"Marshall…Marshall, come on…stay with me…"

"This is Chief Inspector McQueen! I need an ambulance right away!"

Stan had obviously abandoned his charge momentarily to call the medics, something that barely indexed with Mary, for she had placed her frantically flapping fingers to Marshall's neck, trying to feel a beat somewhere of that good, pure, unspoiled heart of his.

"Stan…" her mouth was moving, but she didn't remember telling it to. "Stan, I can't find his pulse! Stan, he doesn't have a pulse!"

Mary wasn't actually sure if this was true, not with the way she could hardly hold her hand steady, but no rhythm was meeting the pads of her fingers and that was sending her into a tailspin all by itself. The fact that no one would answer her was making her more agitated by the second. In a more lucid moment, Mary would've understood that everyone around her was busy trying to apprehend all the mayhem, but she needed someone – anyone – to tell her that Marshall was going to be all right, because he didn't look all right at all.

"Marshall, look at me!" she was demanding now, as if shouting louder or breathing harder might get her husband to snap out of it. "Look at me! Look at me now; come on!" she was going to add to his scrapes if she kept whacking his face, but she couldn't make herself stop. "Marshall, you're tougher than this, you're stronger than this; I know you are…you survived to pull me out of a fire, you're not going to go down for something as stupid as this…!"

Mention of the flames that had licked and demolished the elementary school was what finally had Mary succumbing to true, unbridled madness. She was sobbing and shouting without hearing herself, without thinking about how she looked or what Melissa could see, but it was unlikely her daughter noticed anything. She was howling enough for both of them, a miserable duet, one half of which Mark was trying to quell.

"I don't want to go inside; I want to stay with Marshall…!"

"Don't do this to me; don't do this to me; you can't…!"

"I did it to him; I have to stay with him!"

"Marshall, hang on; the ambulance is coming; it's coming…!"

Rational, if distressed tones, interrupted the byplay for a second time while Stan continue to berate the driver, whose life was probably flashing before his eyes.

"Brandi, I've got her; we need to get her out of here…"

That was Mark, undoubtedly leading Melissa to what he considered safety, not wanting her to witness anymore of the tragedy unfolding before her. The notion had Mary whipping her head around for one moment to see her ex-husband and sister all-but dragging Missy across the grass. The image was a brutal one, one Mary could not fixate on for very long, but there were terrible sights everywhere she looked. Melissa was flailing all over trying to reach Marshall, and when she saw that she was going to be thwarted, she started screaming not for the man this time, but for her mother.

"Mom! Mama, you have to help him! Help him!"

Mary longed to bellow back that she was trying; not that it made any difference, but was too consumed in her grief to do so. Her brain trusted that Mark and Brandi would handle the little girl, although under ordinary circumstances she would want to be the only one comforting in times of crisis.

Unfortunately, the real crisis was still sprawled smack in her line of vision – vision that was becoming foggy and clouded with how heavily she was crying. Marshall was starting to look like a mannequin, a stilted accident victim in some badly-portrayed movie of the week. The problem was that he was shockingly real, so much so that Mary was afraid she was touching him too much, adding to his unknown ailments, and yet she didn't stop for a minute. The bruises on his face were ghastly, already turning purple, and his shirt had ripped across the top, his normally styled hair unkempt and ratty around his forehead.

"Marshall…Melissa needs you…" she moaned, cradling his cheek instead of hitting it, not even mentioning herself. "She needs you…she can't have three boys without you…"

Mary had no idea how long she crouched there before the sirens began to blare. It felt like hours, but she knew from her intimate experiences with police work that it was probably only a few minutes, especially if Stan had called in a favor.

An ambulance screamed into their midst, followed by a police car that had the neighbors who were home sticking their heads out to rubberneck, a picture that Mary would later be grateful she missed. It was Stan who had to pull her from her partner's unconscious form once the police took care of the man who had been behind the wheel of the truck. Paramedics wavered and warbled on the edges of Mary's peripheral vision, Stan murmuring and tugging so they could lift Marshall onto a stretcher.

"Mary, you can't do anything for him now; let them do their job…" he implored, far more calmly than the woman would've expected. "He's going where he needs to be; let go…"

Blubbering the same repeated word over and over – "no" – Mary eventually allowed herself to be towed to her feet, burying her face in her hands as she watched the professionals strap Marshall to the board and hoist him into the ambulance that was waiting with its back doors open. Bright reds and blues splashed the surrounding street in the descending fireball that was the sun; Mary didn't even feel the cold that would normally be settling on her bones in the absence of the warmth.

"Ma'am, we can't take you in the cabin; you'll have to drive over. We need all the room we can get…" one of the medics said, clearly sensing that Mary was going to try and clamber into the back of the vehicle. "Are you immediate family?"

"She's his wife…" Stan informed them quietly while he rubbed Mary's shoulder and she continued to weep. "He's got a little girl inside; she's the only one who saw what went down, but your people are going to have to wait before you talk to her," he flashed his badge for good measure.

"Of course, sir," the man was polite. "We're on our way."

Surely there was something more Mary could say, something else she could holler as she witnessed Marshall being schlepped into the ambulance all by his lonesome without anyone to comfort him. Before this moment, she never would've believed that he could understand or sense anything while he was blacked-out, but now the thought of being separate from him was agonizing.

All of a sudden, she remembered the last time she'd been in the back of an ambulance. It was when she'd been trapped in the fire and had been in excruciating pain from the placental abruption, just hours away from delivering Melissa. And never once had Marshall left her side. He'd held her hand and mopped her brow, and here she was standing on the sidewalk watching him being led away.

But now, when she wanted to protest, when she wanted to insist they come back, it was too late. The sirens had returned in full force, their bells clamorous and cruel, used to alert each and every passerby that had not yet discovered the catastrophe occurring right outside their front doors. Why were they staring? Mary felt their eyes in a way she hadn't before, and she wished Stan would tell them all to go away.

How had Stan known what to do? How had he been able to take charge? How had Marshall when she had been the one on the ground?

"Mary…kiddo, come on…" Stan himself had probably been speaking for several minutes before the woman registered his voice, too obsessed with her sobbing to fixate on anything else. "We're gonna have to go if you want to get over there…" he must mean the hospital. "I'll drive you. Mark and Brandi took Missy in the house."

Mention of her daughter acted as a kind of trigger for Mary, who somehow managed to come out of her daze and face Stan with furious disbelief. There were so many pieces that were missing; her mind was running a million miles an hour, and still she couldn't understand. Was there really an eight-year-old little girl who knew better than she did? Who had been forced to observe this wretched event? Mary couldn't bear the thought.

"_What happened?!"_ she burst far more loudly than she initially intended, her panic not abating one iota. "How did he get here; what happened? _What the hell happened?!"_

She was screaming so violently that her voice went raw; she was spitting and sputtering through her tears like a wild animal, and Stan was obviously growing concerned that she was about to collapse, because he became agitated against his will.

"Mary, calm down…"

"Why was he in the road?! What was he doing in the street?!" she grabbed Stan's forearms and shook him, at which point he would stand for her antics no longer.

"Mary, I don't know! I don't know! Missy probably knows, but she's as bad off as you; I'm not going in there and asking her!"

"Did Melissa get hit?" such a thought hadn't even occurred to Mary, and now she could scarcely believe she had been so negligent. "There was blood; Mark said there was blood…!"

"No – no, I think she fell over – but she's fine!"

"_She's not fine; she saw Marshall get plowed by a two-ton truck!"_

And she clutched at Stan so forcefully that he nearly staggered, an act that had him forcing her to snap out of it, no matter how entitled she might be to her grief and terror. He knew that, once they arrived at the hospital, Mary would want to be coherent and lucid, not this misshapen mess.

"Mary, stop this!" the boss wrenched free and adjusted his coat, her bawling doing quite a number on his heart; he'd never seen his inspector so distraught, not counting when Marshall had been shot. "It doesn't matter what happened so long as he's okay!"

"What if he isn't okay?" she moaned, shoving her bangs out of her eyes, where she discovered they'd been sticking to her sweaty forehead. "Stan, I don't even know if he was breathing…"

Her tone trembled more thoroughly, and he turned sympathetic at once, glad she was mellowing out even if she was still miserable.

"We will know more when we get there…" he gave her hair a gentle pat. "Like I said before, I can drive you. Do you want to go in and see how Melissa's doing, or do you want to go ahead and go?"

Mary didn't think she could face her daughter in the condition she was displaying; it put a knot in her stomach that she was too afraid to confront her child when she needed her most, but it was too much. Melissa's freak-out would only inspire more of a frenzy from the mother, and her daughter didn't need to see that.

Stan seemed to sense her dilemma, that she _wanted_ to see if her little girl was at least functioning, but was too afraid of how she might appear in the moment. He understood that this didn't make her less of a mother, and didn't hesitate to say so.

"Mark and Brandi will know what to do," he promised, now with his hand on her shoulder, feeling more confident saying so about the other man rather than Brandi, but he knew looming motherhood had transformed her for the better. "They can keep her here and calm her down, and hopefully you'll have something to tell them in a bit," it was an optimistic forecast, one that Mary couldn't buy into. "Let's get going…" he indicated his car once more, obviously glad that his inspector was no longer yelling, though she was still extremely distraught. "We can give your mom a call on the way over; she can come down and sit with you."

Ordinarily, Mary would've protested this suggestion – and loudly – because Jinx was not someone who often brought her a hefty amount of comfort. She was always full of platitudes and empty words, words that meant nothing, words simply designed to get Mary to see the nonexistent rainbow in the distance.

But then Mary remembered, and not for the first time, how much she had longed for her mother before Melissa had been born, how she had languished over that support from someone older and more worldly than she was. There were no guarantees it would work in this instance, but hope was the only tool she had.

"You'll call her now?" she found herself asking Stan meekly.

"As soon as we're in the car," he reiterated. "It won't be long, okay?"

But, Mary couldn't help thinking as she dragged herself across the concrete next to Stan that 'long' was exactly what it was going to be. It was going to be a long-long way back to the top, back to security, to safety – back to Marshall.

XXX

**A/N: Not as long of a chapter (for me, anyway,) but that's probably good. You can only take so much hysteria at once!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hopefully the dramatics in the last chapter weren't overkill! Thank-you again to carajiggirl for singing my praises on her blog, which has had other users doing the same; I am humbled, and so very flattered. Thank-you again to everyone who is reviewing here as well. You all are what keep me going!**

XXX

Mark was so rattled that he wasn't even sure how he was still managing to walk and talk, and yet his body seemed to be acting all by itself. His feet continued to move, his arms bent in all the right places so that he could hold onto the squirming, screeching Melissa; even his mouth kept right on spewing reassurance after reassurance, whether he believed any of them or not. Something like survival instincts seemed to be shooting like caffeine through his veins, like he was a little boy on a sugar high and no matter how he tried; he just couldn't come down off the wave.

What had he just seen? The scene was playing over and over in his brain like a bad dream, like it was too horrible to be real. Marshall, who had become one of his closest friends in the last eight years, had been motionless and static in the middle of the street, his body obscured by mists and puffs of steam. He could envision Mary, crouched over his mangled body, while Melissa completely lost her marbles, fighting him with every fiber of strength she possessed to get away from him and back to her beloved step-father. Until today, he had never known that the little girl – undersized and petite her entire life – could be so brutally strong.

But, if Mark was having a hard time dealing with the circumstances, it was nothing compared to Melissa herself. Even after he and Brandi carted her back into the house, her screams continued, and they sounded worse when confined by the four walls; there was no open sky above to catch them, swallow them, and release them into the heavens. Now, of course, the bellows were mixed with frightened, petrified tears, but Mark was determined to ease this child's mind if it killed him. They would never get anywhere if her hysteria just continued to climb.

With Brandi by his side, he carried Melissa into Mary's kitchen, murmuring at the other woman over the sobs before addressing Missy directly.

"We need to do something about her hands…" this seemed to be the number one job, for both of the little one's palms were scraped top to bottom, drenched in slick, deep red blood. "Can you stay with her while I find some bigger bandages?" he was trying to sound businesslike, but his voice shook on every word.

Fortunately, Brandi seemed to be running a little bit better and nodded immediately, ready to do her part.

"Of course…" but, her tone was hushed and terrified as well. "Set her on the counter. I think there's probably some gauze and stuff under the sink in the hall bathroom."

"Okay…" Mark was grateful for the tip, and carefully lowered Missy onto the island in the center of the room, her legs dangling over the edge. "Thanks. I hope I'll just be a minute…"

His guise wasn't fooling Brandi, but she just bobbed her head once more, attempting to keep her demeanor under wraps, but with her eyes following his the entire time – overtly round, seconds from tears, and worried.

"Just give me a second, Missy Jean…" Mark tried to brighten his voice before departing, but it was no use. "We're gonna fix you up."

Knowing there was nothing more he could say or do, he dashed down the hall, leaving Brandi to her own devices in hopes that she could begin the process of helping Melissa achieve a more tranquil appearance.

At the moment, it didn't seem that this was an achievable goal. Unable to bury her face in her bloody hands and stem the flow from her eyes and nose, Missy was dripping tears and snot all down her face, dampening the bib of her overalls, her cheeks blotchy in rosy patches. Nudging herself closer to the distraught child, Brandi wrapped her arms around her trembling form from the side, operating on faint wishes that she could soothe her even minimally.

"Shh…Missy, sweetheart…" she crooned, sounding a lot like Jinx, a thought that was staggering to Brandi who had never considered herself a mother in spite of her recent condition. When all she received were shuddering hiccups and wetness on her shoulder, she thought understanding might be in order, "I know…" it had to have been scary, there was no denying. "I know, honey, but why don't you take a deep breath? Try to calm down…"

Melissa was not a fan of this, "It's all my fault…" she blubbered, but she did wiggle her face into Brandi's shoulder, scenting the comfort. "I fell on him and he couldn't walk; it's all my fault and mom will hate me; she won't love me anymore if Marshall dies…"

This prediction was so heartbreaking that Brandi shifted almost effortlessly into bald-faced lies, anything to make Melissa hope, to not believe the worst of Marshall or of herself.

"Oh, Missy…" she breathed, laying a kiss on her temple while a particularly strident wail erupted. "None of this is your fault, and you should never think that about your mom. She knows that whatever happened was not on purpose; it was an accident…" even without knowing the details, Brandi felt safe guessing. "She could never hate you, honey."

But, the child had evidently abandoned her worries about her mother and clung to her original concern, her cries muffled now inside her aunt's shirt.

"Marshall's going to die…" she sounded sick, like _she_ was dying. "Marshall's going to die…"

"No, baby, you don't know that," Brandi insisted, hating even the thought of that entering her niece's mind. "Stan called the ambulance; he's already on his way. He's going where they'll take really good care of him."

"But, sometimes doctors hurt you even worse!" she cried almost manically, and Brandi had to wonder where she had gotten such an idea until she went on. "Mom said so! She said when I was a baby and I was in the hospital they stuck all these needles in my arms and that I cried and cried – they can't do that to Marshall; he's already too hurt! They'll make him worse…!"

The child descended into wails all over again at the mere thought of physicians poking and prodding her cherished Marshall, and Brandi knew it was probably no good to try and pummel her with more reassurances. It was plain she didn't buy a word of it, and she was too far gone to see reason. Nonetheless, allowing her to remain in such a state was going to make her sick if the waterworks didn't abate at least a little. Not to mention, Brandi was beginning to feel flustered – hot and jittery with her heart pounding six beats for every one. If she lost it too, they would really be in trouble.

"They might put Marshall to sleep…" she offered, which was the best explanation she had for her niece's last worry. "And then he wouldn't feel a thing…"

"He was already asleep – he was asleep on the ground; his eyes weren't open and I heard mama say he wasn't breathing…!" it was no good, not when she was so smart; there was no finagling a more rosy set of circumstances. "He won't stay alive if he doesn't breathe! You die if you stop breathing! He might already be dead and it's all because of me…!"

"Missy, baby, it's not…" Brandi touched her shoulder, which was shaking violently along with the rest of her. "Marshall would never blame you, and I promise your mom won't either…"

"But, Marshall is her only friend except for Mark and Stan…" sad, much more controlled trickles of tears slipped down the girl's cheeks as she enlightened her aunt still further, weeping now over her mother's potential loss and not her own. "They're best friends; Marshall saved her life before I was born; she'd have burned up in the fire if he hadn't been there and she'll never want to see me ever again if Marshall isn't okay…"

At this point, she became too anguished to say anymore, and allowed Brandi to pull her into her grasp a second time, soaking the entire top half of her shirt with tears and mucus being expelled from her constantly running nose. Nothing comforting to say, the woman clucked her tongue and rocked her back and forth, wondering when Mary or Stan might come inside to say what was going to happen next. There was no denying Melissa needed her mother; she needed to be told that the accident should not be placed on her very small shoulders. But, the sound of the sirens had died away and the remaining man and woman had yet to come inside. If Brandi could get to the front window, she could see for sure if they had departed along with the ambulance.

Luckily, a distraction arrived in the form of Mark, his arms laden with what looked like the entire contents of Mary's hall bathroom. Evidently, he had no idea what might need repair as far as Missy's hands were concerned and he wasn't going to make a second trip. Flushed and feverish in trying to keep a cool head, he dumped everything beside the little girl, and his presence caused her to unearth her face from Brandi's damp shoulder.

Sniffling loudly and not bothering to ask for a Kleenex, Melissa eyed the supplies wearily, unsure what she was in for in terms of doctoring.

"Sometimes when you get cut real bad you need stitches," she informed Mark in a low moan. "I don't want stitches…" her lip began to tremble before Mark swooped in to the rescue.

"You won't need stitches, Missy Jean, I'm sure of it," his pseudo-sunny tone sounded so fake amidst the tragedy. "Brandi is going to wash out your hands…" upon hearing this, the blonde dashed to the sink to find a washcloth to soak. "And I'll put on the band-aids, and you will be set. Let's take those skates off, though; your feet have to be getting heavy…"

Stooping slightly, the man began to unlace the skates, taking his sweet time, because in the profound silence, Melissa seemed to be coming to a little better. The quiet was punctuated every few seconds with a loud snuffle, and he could feel her shuddering, seemingly unable to stop herself. But, the true hysterics appeared to be floating away, at least for one, blessed moment.

When Brandi returned with the cloth, which was dripping all over the linoleum, Mark allowed the skates to fall to the ground and took the sopping fabric at once.

"There's a good girl…" he praised softly, wanting Missy to know he appreciated and recognized her slowing down. "Can Brandi get you anything while I tape you up here?" he offered, sponging blood off her palms. "Are you thirsty?"

Missy shook her head, but the pregnant one seemed to think a beverage was a good idea, and didn't waste time making herself useful.

"I'll get you some water, honey…"

Seeing that she was going to be catered to whether she wanted it or not, Missy spoke up in a croaky, strangled sort of voice.

"Lemonade."

"Lemonade?" Brandi paused, a fresh bottle of water in hand, which she immediately put back. "Sure…I'll pour you a glass…"

"I love lemonade," Mark chimed in stupidly, thinking he sounded painfully chipper. "Do you like pink or yellow best, Missy Jean?"

She hiccupped, "Yellow."

"Yeah? How come?" he dried her right hand with a nearby towel and then began unwrapping a band-aid to cover the first wound.

"Because there's no such thing as pink lemons," Melissa supplied logically. "Marshall said lemonade is the best when it is fresh and it can't be fresh if it's pink."

The mention of her step-father, crushed on the pavement as he had been, gave way for a few solitary tears to leak back into the open. Understanding that there was no way the child could be expected to chat about Marshall so soon after the accident without becoming emotional; Mark patted her hair while Brandi looked miserably into her niece's tiny face nearby.

"I don't know about you…" the man wasn't sure if what he was about to say would make things better or worse, but he was running in blind on this. "But, Marshall is the smartest person I know. So, if he says that, then I'm only getting yellow lemonade from now on."

"He's the smartest person in the whole world…" she was nothing if not devoted. "Isn't he, Mark?"

"Yes. Of course," now wasn't the time to squash such loyalty. "Hell, I don't even understand him half the time, he's so brilliant!" he gave a weak laugh and Brandi did the same, but Melissa wilted.

"You said a bad word."

"Yeah, I did," Mark admitted. "Forgive me?"

Missy nodded, "Okay."

The room was filled once more with only the sounds of the crackling paper that covered the band-aids, Melissa running a finger under her nose to keep it from dripping. Seeing this, Brandi decided it would be all right to interrupt, even if she didn't want to disturb the momentary peace settling on them.

"Here, sweetheart; drink your lemonade…" she passed the cup into Melissa's already bandaged hand. "Let me get you a tissue…"

Not surprisingly, the little girl drank and drank the liquid like her thirst hadn't been properly quenched in days. Brandi had enough experience with meltdowns to know that they parched you dry, and Missy wasn't even stopping to take a breath.

Within minutes, Mark had done his duty as the temporary, makeshift doctor and crisscrossed both palms in scads of band-aids, not wanting to take a chance and have them start bleeding freely again. While proud that he'd been able to accomplish the task under so much stress, he quickly mourned the loss of the distraction. Keeping busy had enabled all of them to keep some of the terror at bay. What now?

"There you are…" he declared semi-cheerfully, beginning to despise the sound of his own voice. "Good as new. You think I should take up a part time job as a nurse or something?"

"Aw, he'd have to be a girl for that, wouldn't he?" Brandi tried to get in on the joke, pressing the Kleenex to Missy's nose. "Blow, honey…"

Melissa did as instructed, with a noise like a foghorn, and when she was able to speak again, she shook her head in response to everyone's teasing.

"Boys can be nurses."

"You're right, they can," Mark agreed. "So, that wouldn't be such a bad career option for me, huh?"

All the gags didn't seem to be doing much for Melissa; even after she blew her nose and allowed Brandi to wipe her eyes; she continued to drip tiny droplets of tears, like the morning dew gathering on blades of spring grass. It was plain that she, like her two caregivers at the moment, didn't have a clue where to proceed from here. But, she was eight. Those that were older and more sophisticated than she was could be left with such a hefty task.

Exchanging a glance with Brandi, grave brown eyes meeting woebegone blue ones, Mark knew they were going to have to move on soon or else risk Missy coming apart all over again.

"How about a snack to go with that lemonade, huh?" he suggested, shattering the silence. "I bet Brandi would sneak you a few cookies. Would you like that?"

Melissa didn't answer, her own green orbs fixated on her skates, which were still lying on the linoleum.

"I need to put my skates away," she mumbled to the floor.

"It's okay, sweetheart," Brandi said at once. "Mark or I will put them away; don't worry about it…"

"You don't know where they go," Melissa all-but cut her off. "I have to put them in their place. Marshall says I'll never lose anything as long as I put things back where they are supposed to go."

This produced another significant, sharing glance between Mark and Brandi, but there was no sense in arguing. By the same token, if they could send Melissa off by herself, even for a few minutes, it would give them a chance to verbally confer out of her earshot, and who knew when an opportunity like that would come around again.

"Well, you would know best…" the man complimented, and without further ado, he slipped his hands under the girl's armpits and lifted her to the ground. Picking up the skates by their laces, "Find the spot for those and Brandi will get you those cookies."

Wordlessly, Melissa did as she was told, ambling off to her bedroom, the wheels on the skates clunking against her overalls the entire time. Brandi, however, did not make any plans to put together a plate of sweets, but raced to the window as fast as her pregnant frame would allow. Swiping the curtains aside, she saw that the only remnants of the accident were the truck the driver had been in plus a team that looked prepared to analyze it and then tow it away. A few neighbors lingered on their front porches, but the sun was starting to go down, and it was hard to make out much else. One thing was for sure. Mary, Stan, Marshall, and the ambulance, had disappeared.

"They're gone!" Brandi whirled back around and spoke in a hushed voice. "They must've gone to the hospital already! Do you think Mary will call?"

"I don't know…" Mark groaned, his face in his hands, rubbing his eyes when he finally emerged to face the woman. "I'm sure somebody will when they have something to tell us. Mary didn't seem to be in any state to talk to anybody; it'll probably be Stan who has an update…"

Brandi sighed, meandering away from the window and back toward the kitchen. Mark had begun to pace, wringing his hands and constantly throwing covert looks over his shoulder to see if Missy was coming back.

"This doesn't feel real…" he finally voiced, unable to say anything except exactly what he was thinking. "I cannot get my head around it; Missy keeps looking at me like I've lost my mind and I just keep chattering…"

"You're doing great, Mark," the blonde whispered benevolently, blinking at him soulfully. "You're trying to keep her from worrying; what else can you do?"

Running his hand over his forehead, "I'm sorry I kept screaming at you outside; I wasn't thinking. Of course you couldn't carry her, not with…" his eyes roved up and down the impressive bulge she was sporting these days. "…Anyway, I just wanted to get her out of there…"

"It's okay," Brandi promised. "I wish I could've done more."

"No, she needs you," he insisted at once, probably to make up for his earlier blunder. "She needs a mom," even if Brandi didn't technically hold that title yet. "Until Mary gets back, she needs a mom."

"She needs Marshall," the pregnant one intoned what they were both already thinking. "Mark, if he doesn't make it…"

"We can't even go there," he interrupted sharply. "We can't. We need to be positive. We can't let Missy think the worst."

"Right…" Brandi nodded numbly, knowing there was nothing better to be done. "Right…"

But, the woman had barely had time to grasp this concept when Melissa returned, obviously not keen on being by herself for very long. Remembering she was supposed to be putting together a snack, Brandi jumped at the sound of the footsteps and immediately delved into the pantry, mostly to hide her troubled features from her little niece.

This left Mark in charge, and he hitched his smile back into place, no matter how phony it felt, and trotted out to the living room to meet the girl who, both literally and figuratively, was his daughter. Never before had he wanted to be closer to her, knowing how frightened and traumatized she had to be. It was common knowledge in their dysfunctional family unit that nobody held a candle to Marshall, and Mark had come to accept that long ago. Nonetheless, they didn't have Marshall right now, and it couldn't be denied that Missy had to be yearning for someone she loved, no matter who it was.

"Come here…"

Slipping his fingers into hers, he led her over to the chair positioned in front of the window, and she obediently followed.

"Come sit on my lap."

Without protest, Melissa allowed herself to be lifted into the seat, and once Mark had settled himself against the headrest, she burrowed the side of her face into his chest, eyes blinking out at the leaf-strewn street beyond. It was one of Mark's favorite sensations, having her pressed against him, feeling the rise and fall of her ribcage against his own. But, this time he couldn't help feeling nothing but sadness, because he knew she was snuggling so close because she was aimless, because she needed someone to fix the nightmare she'd fallen into.

Legs bunched up on top of Mark's stomach so she was nothing but a huddled little ball, she must've spotted something through the window, even though her glasses were fogged from crying.

"Where's my mom?"

The man smoothed her blonde hair, fly-aways having escaped her once pristine ponytail. Kissing the streaks until he got a chance to groom her again, he murmured softly in her ear, not wanting to take the risk of riling her.

"I'm pretty sure she went to the hospital," he worked off Brandi's suspicions she had shared minutes earlier. "She'll want to be there to hear that Marshall's okay."

Melissa snuffled indistinguishably upon learning this, no doubt weighing the veracity of whether or not Mary was ever likely to hear that her husband was going to pull through. Mark's platitudes might've worked on a different child, but not this one. Her brains had always been both a blessing and a curse.

And after several minutes of quiet, Brandi standing uncertainly halfway between kitchen and living room with her plate of cookies, the man rubbing Missy's back, the eight-year-old proved that what one really needed in times of crisis was not an aunt or a Mark, however well-meaning.

"I want my mom."

This was accompanied by a sad, miserable little squeak and Mark could just barely see the tears running in roads down her cheeks.

"I know, Missy Jean…" he squeezed when he felt her tip her head into the high spot on his chest. "I'm sure she'll call as soon as she can. I promise she didn't forget about you; she just didn't want Marshall to be alone, and she knew you were safe here with us."

"Will you be here all night?"

"I'll be here as long as I need to be," he swore. "Brandi too, so long as that baby doesn't feel the need to come out. I'm not sure we could handle that today," he chuckled darkly. "Only a few weeks, though. Then you'll have a new cousin. Were there any names you thought Brandi and Peter needed to consider?"

Brandi herself knew that Mark was casting around for anything, anything at all, that would get Melissa's mind off everything she had just witnessed. Tentatively, she wandered the rest of the way into the living room and took a seat on the edge of the coffee table, but didn't offer any chocolate chip delicacies that she'd dumped onto the plate. She had a hunch Melissa wasn't feeling very hungry, no matter how much they tried to force her to eat.

"Marshall likes Matthew," but, there was no diverting her focus, not for a minute. "Because he says since I have an 'M' name like Mark and Marshall and mom – 'cause her name is Mary – that the baby should have one too."

She spoke in a flat, dead sort of voice, answering the man's inquires out of obligation and nothing more.

"That might get confusing after awhile," Brandi reached out and tweaked one of the little girl's feet that was dangling out of Mark's grasp. "You know, Peter and I haven't told anyone this yet, but we like Ian, except that 'Ian Alpert' is a bit of a mouthful with all those vowels…"

Brandi could practically hear Mary in her head saying something along the lines of, 'I didn't even know you knew the difference between vowels and consonants.' And yet, if there was any confusion, Melissa was about to clear it up.

"A…E…I…O…U…" she recited sweetly. "No boy names start with 'U.'"

"How about Ulysses?" Mark teased off the top of his head, which earned him a shy smile from Brandi. "Vintage, huh?"

"He was a president," Melissa informed them both. "Ulysses S. Grant."

It seemed all of the wisdom that Marshall had imparted her with over the past eight years was leaking out, no shut-off-valve to stem the overflow. She was channeling him even if she didn't know it, even if the memories were more harmful than they were helpful. Knowing he couldn't stop her even if he tried, Mark settled for laying one more kiss on her unkempt waves, leaving her with nothing but praise.

"Smart cookie."

This would've been the perfect segue into handing out something to munch on, but at that moment, Brandi's phone erupted in a fit of buzzing from where it was still smashed in the back pocket of her jeans. The woman leapt so badly it almost slipped out and onto the floor, but she managed to fish it out before it clattered to the ground. Melissa unfurled herself from Mark's lap to see what was going on, her eyes as round as saucers.

"Is it my mom?" she demanded, her tone high-pitched and cautiously eager.

Brandi didn't know what to hope for, but saw quickly that it wasn't Mary on the other end of the phone just by looking at her ID.

"No, it's mine…"

"It's Jinx?" Missy tried to clarify.

"Yeah…" Brandi stated once more. "Give me a second, sweetie; I don't know if she knows what's going on. Have a snack, okay?"

With a would-be-confident smile, she indicated the plate of cookies and shuffled back in the direction of the kitchen, just in case she was about to have a conversation that she wouldn't want her niece to be privy too. She stopped at the island, leaning onto it to save her bloated ankles, and hit the talk button, speaking stealthily and under her breath.

"Mom?"

"Brandi…!" Jinx sounded equally hushed, although she was probably just picking up on the dramatics of the situation, as she was likely not around anyone she would need to hide from. "Oh, honey; I just talked to Mary…"

"So she told you what happened?"

"Of course she told me. I'm going over to meet her and Stan at the hospital…"

"Do they know anything at all?"

"No, darling; I don't think they've even made it to the ER yet – Mary and Stan, I mean; God willing, Marshall is already there…"

"I just didn't know; they left here without telling us…"

"Which reminds me," Jinx broke in seriously. "How's Missy? Is she all right?"

"Oh, well…" Brandi stole another glance into the living room, where she saw Mark trying to elicit a laugh by gobbling one of the cookies with unnecessary gusto. "She's pretty upset, but Mark's doing what he can to keep her calm…" this was the most optimistic explanation she had. "How was Mary when you talked to her?"

"Mary's hysterical…" Jinx was uncharacteristically blunt. "She's scared out of her wits, sweetheart, but I promised I'd find out about Missy. Can you or Mark stay with her until…?" her voice tapered away before she resumed her thought. "Well…for as long as this takes?"

"Yeah…" the other breathed, knowing they'd already made this decision. "Yeah, one of us will be here. Listen…" there was no telling when she'd get the chance to speak to Jinx again, and so it was important to make her request now. "Missy's asking for Mary. If she gets a handle on things, it'd be really great if she could call; I'm sure it would make Missy feel better…"

"I'll let her know, honey," the mother insisted. "Right now, she'll just be glad to hear that Missy's okay."

Brandi nodded grimly, knowing this wouldn't satisfy her sister for long, but right now it was all they had.

"At least somebody is."

XXX

**A/N: This is a little bit of a different group, but I thought it would be nice to see how Mark and Brandi – normally so carefree and fun-loving – handle the accident.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Thank-you to those who are hanging with me and still reading! I get spoiled when I have reviews; it makes it hard not to want more, but you all are always so great to stick with me.**

XXX

Stan had thought that once the original shock wore off that Mary might become slightly more lucid. It was most unusual for her to be so out-of-control, but her sense of self seemed shattered. Everyone in their inner circle knew that Marshall was the one who anchored her, who kept both her feet on the ground, and with him hovering between life and death it seemed she grappled hopelessly with nothing to cling to.

The oldest of the 'boys' trio, Stan wasn't the most adept at dealing with an excess of emotion, and Mary's off-the-wall behavior made him feel rather erratic himself. His jitters had to be showing, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he was rubbing off on Mary. He was grateful to hand her over to Jinx when she arrived; this also gave him a chance to phone the police station to see how they were faring with the driver of the pick-up truck.

Pacing in front of the vending machine in the all-too-familiar private waiting room he had pulled strings to acquire, Stan listened to the report from the higher-ups at ABQ PD. Abigail, Marshall's ex-girlfriend, had long since returned to Texas and Bobby Dershowitz remained in Chicago, which meant they dealt with a different detective for these sort of eventualities. His name was Grant Banks, but the WITSEC crew often referred to him by his surname when throwing his moniker around the office. He was fairly young for being so high on the food chain, but the chief liked him because he didn't waffle. When he was given a bone, he dug after it like his life depended on it, even if he had to test a hundred different scenarios before he reached the jackpot.

In this instance, however, it seemed there wasn't a whole lot to decipher. For some reason, the notion that the accident really had been just that – an accident – didn't bring a lot of comfort to Stan. Mary would be looking for someone to blame, and the driver wasn't the culprit.

"Go over it with me one more time, Grant, just so I make sure I've got all the facts…" Stan rubbed his bald pate agitatedly, trying to keep his eyes from straying toward Mary where she slumped in one of the hard chairs occupying the space. "Who is this guy? There's nothing in his file that would indicate he's suspect?"

"Aaron Cunningham," Grant reported swiftly, shuffling papers on the other end of the phone. "And, no," he concluded in response to Stan's other question. "He's thirty-two years old, married, no children; three speeding tickets since the age of sixteen and one other charge that was waived a long time ago…"

"What was that?" Stan was hungry for anything they could nail this man with. "What lenient hometown cop let him off the hook?"

"It was an underage drinking charge, Stan," Grant sighed dispiritedly. "But, he was cleared – he was at a frat house when he was seventeen and there was alcohol on the premises. This guy's amateur hour; you should see him sweating in the holding cell…"

A small trace of pity ran through Stan's veins at knowing that if Aaron really was an innocent that he had to be feeling sick to his stomach about hitting Marshall. And, while he wanted to sink his teeth into the underage drinking accusation from fifteen years previously, it wouldn't be of any help down the road. He'd surrendered on similar charges with witnesses, and had encouraged Mary to do the same when he felt it was necessary.

"Was he speeding when he ran Marshall over?" the boss diverted back to the tickets, the phrase that expelled from his mouth giving him chills all over.

"Twenty-seven in a twenty-five," Grant continued, still more dejectedly. "Only enough to give him a slap on the wrist."

"If twenty-seven and twenty-five is the difference between Marshall pulling through or slipping under, then he's going to get a lot more than a slap on the wrist," Stan declared darkly, mindful to keep his voice low in case Mary was more near than he thought. "What's Aaron's story? What does he say happened?"

"He says he turned the corner, that he didn't hear anything because he had the volume on his CD player up high…"

"You sure we can't put him away just for that?"

Grant ignored him, "He swears he didn't see Marshall until it was too late, that one minute the road seemed empty and the next Mann was standing right in front of him. Slammed on his breaks, and is pretty sure he swerved slightly because when he spotted Marshall, he saw Mary's girl…"

"Missy," Stan mumbled.

"Yeah. Why he'd choose to slam into Marshall as an alternative, I'm not sure, but he was probably acting on instinct," an assumption. "Anyway, said he was too late to get stopped, that he couldn't until he'd already hit him. He's not changing his story at all; he seems pretty set on this version of events…" Grant proclaimed. "You sure no one else saw what happened?"

"We were all inside," Stan couldn't begin to describe the amount of guilt he felt over this now. "We left Melissa roller skating with Marshall; we'd gone in the house to help Mary's sister with something…" he recounted. "We're not going to know why Marshall was on the ground until someone gets the details out of Missy, and I'm not pushing that…"

"I'll hold the department off as long as possible," the detective assured him. "Questioning a kid about something like this is not my idea of a fun time. And, I can't imagine Mary would give us the green light…"

"I'd say you have her pegged pretty well," he murmured. "Well…" an exhale, knowing they had hashed out all they could at the moment. "Give me a call if anything new turns up, all right, Banks?"

"You bet, Stan," Grant promised. "Give Mary my best. When you can, ring us up again and let us know how Marshall's doing."

"I hope I have something to tell you."

The younger man, less at stake and more optimistic on his side of the coin, was prone to expressing positivity.

"Marshall is one hell of an inspector; he's a tough guy," Grant reminded him. "Anybody trained up under you would be. He'll come out the other side."

Stan swallowed, willing himself to believe what he was being told, but he felt a leaden sensation in his gut every time he pictured his employee lying motionless on the ground. Missy's screaming ringing in his ears, he could only shake his head, do as Grant was doing, and hope for the best.

"I'll tell Mary you're thinking about her," was all he could manage in words, however. "Talk later."

"Right."

Both hung up soundly, Stan pocketing his phone in the breast pouch of his jacket. He had come to a halt in front of the vending machine he had been blocking for the past twenty minutes, and when he blinked into the glass properly, he could see Mary in its reflection. The sight did not encourage him to join her, not when she was clearly still immersed in her grief. Even in the cloudy sheets of the candy machine, he could tell that her eyes were red-rimmed and her hand kept jumping to her mouth and then back to her lap. Jinx was speaking to her quietly, trying to push Kleenex on her, but she refused, shaking her head and chattering words that Stan couldn't make out.

Knowing she was waiting for him even if he had nothing to tell her, he forced himself to turn around, wandering slowly back to the two chairs sitting side-by-side, hands in his pockets. The minute he appeared in her line of vision, she looked up expectantly, and her face was so painfully hopeful that Stan considered lying, but knew she would see through him at once.

"What did Banks say?" she slapped Jinx away for the fifth time, eyes only for Stan. "Is that bastard being put away?"

The man knew she meant the driver, but he could only shrug and wag his head.

"He's crying 'accident,' Mary, and even though we won't know everything until the team from ABQ PD gets forensics from the scene…"

"It was _not_ an accident!" denial was predictable here, and she leapt from her seat, completely disregarding Jinx, who tried to pull her back down. "This douche bag expects us to believe that he wouldn't see a man Marshall's size?! He's on something! Or if he really didn't see him, he was probably going sixty miles an hour and that's why he couldn't get stopped…!"

"He was only going twenty-seven, kiddo…" the reveal was heart wrenching, but it would hurt more later if he were to fib now. "Grant says he didn't see Missy either, that if he hadn't jerked the wheel out of the way there's no telling…"

"So, I'm supposed to feel better that he made a split-second decision to kill my husband instead of my daughter?!"

"Honey, you're upset…" Jinx stated the obvious, joining her child in standing and tugging on her arm to try and get her to resume her seat. "All this police business; let's leave it for now…"

"Someone needs to pay for what's happened to Marshall!" she shouted, jerking away from her mother, with hot, angry tears to accompany her quest. "I'm not going to sit here and watch someone get away with mowing him down!"

"Revenge isn't going to help in the long run, Mary, you know that…" Stan tried to stay rational, but it was hard with the way she was yelling. "You don't even know what you're dealing with yet; any minute now someone could come out here and say that Marshall's going to be just fine…"

"Yes, that's right, angel…"

"They've had him for an hour and no one's told me anything!" Mary barked. "If he were walking and talking he'd be standing right next to me, and he's not!"

"I don't think they're going to just let him waltz right out the doors; he's undoubtedly injured, but that doesn't mean he's critical…" Stan was not used to playing this role; it was not him who should be laying out the most realistic state of affairs. "Sit back down and let me get you something. Do you want coffee or maybe just some water…?"

"Let me talk to Banks," Mary spoke right over him, as if she had not heard a single word he'd said. Holding out her palm in order to take Stan's cell phone, "I want to hear all this for myself; I'm not going to get all the information with it going through the grapevine…"

"Banks told me everything there is to tell right now…"

"Then I will call him myself!" she exploded ruthlessly, very nearly spraying him with spit in her frenzy. "This isn't a game to me, Stan! This is not something where we 'wait and see!' You can forget being patient! This is my husband, and if there aren't fifty detectives working this thing to go along with the fifty or so quacks there better be behind that door…!" she gesticulated wildly over her shoulder, presumably indicating where Marshall was being worked on. "Then I'm going down to ABQ PD and I'll raise hell – I'll pop a cap in that driver's ass so fast he won't have time to blink!"

"Mary, sweetheart!" Jinx interjected in scandalized tones, going red in the face at her daughter speaking so violently. "I'm sure that whoever this young man is that he feels terrible…"

"Him feeling terrible does not change what he did…!"

"Neither does you putting your career on the line just so you can thump his ass on the pavement!" Stan was shouting now too, sticking a pointed finger right in his inspector's face. "If you think I am going to let you march down there and make a fool of yourself just because you're half out of your mind with worry, you have another thing coming!"

"I don't see you stopping me!"

"I will if I have to!"

Acting blindly, not thinking for a second about what she was doing or how she would look, Mary took a step toward her boss, throwing off Jinx's pacifying touch.

"You gonna fire me if I give this guy what's coming to him?!"

"I'll put you on probation if that's what it takes! I care too much about your livelihood to see you screw it up acting like a barbarian!"

"A barbarian?!"

"You think Marshall would want you kicking Aaron Cunningham to the curb?!" he was so desperate to get Mary to see reason that he forgot about the fact that he hadn't yet divulged the culprit's name, nor did he consider what mentioning her husband would do to the woman. "You think he'd approve of you acting like a maniac just so…so…what…?!" the words weren't coming to him, his mind flying so many different directions. "So vengeance can be served?" finally, the correct phrase. "I don't think so! That's not how he operates and until now I thought you'd outgrown that sort of behavior too!"

"All bets are off, Stan!" Mary bellowed, her eyes virtually popping while she dueled with him; the chief didn't like being in the thick of things like this, but the longer they argued, the longer he kept her from doing something stupid. "I don't sit idly by while some kid with no business on the road…!"

"He's thirty-two years old; he has a wife and he's never even been in trouble…!"

"I don't care if he's a hundred and two; I'm gonna make sure he's never behind the wheel again…!"

"This was an _accident!_"

"It was not!"

"It was!" Stan's voice was beginning to echo now, Jinx looking horribly distraught as she witnessed them sparring. "The captain must've fallen in the road; I don't know what…!"

"Don't call her that!" Mary barked, cutting his endearing nickname for her child into shreds. "And don't talk to me about her – don't you dare imply even for a second that she had anything to do with…!"

"Honey, he's not saying its Missy's fault…"

"SHUT UP!"

Mary was sick of all the voices coming at her at once, sick of trying to claw her way through a tangle of weeds when there were no flowers meeting her on the other side. She roared at Jinx out of utter, incomprehensible frustration and pushed her away so forcefully that she almost staggered, which gave her something else to feel ashamed of.

Her mother appeared hurt by the physical altercation, her green eyes distressed in her milky face. Stan had backed up a pace, as though afraid Mary might give him a hard shove as well. But, she did nothing of the sort; breathing hard, she buried her face in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut with her palms, desperate for one tiny bit of clarity that wasn't coming.

Unfortunately, her latest outburst had caused a stir outside the double doors separating them from the main wing of the hospital. A fussy-looking nurse stuck her head in, frowning at the scene, even though the receptionist on duty – who had observed the whole thing – hadn't said a word.

"Please keep it down in here," the nurse requested curtly. "We can hear you all the way down the hall."

Without waiting for confirmation that the trio was going to do as told, she disappeared back from where she had come. Stan swallowed hard, wondering when it might be safe to speak. He knew he shouldn't have egged Mary on the way he had, but any situation where she burst into the police station and tried to have it out with the driver of the pick-up was not going to end well. The hell she was in at the moment couldn't have been worse for the present, but her future was going to suffer far more if she put her job in jeopardy by acting on untamed emotion.

Stan opted to retrace his steps, to return to rationality, because now that there had been a break in the quarrel, his inspector might be prone to listening a little more thoroughly.

"Mary…" he began softly. "I know…that the waiting is hard," he acknowledged. "The whole thing is hard. But, me and Grant are on this thing; we aren't going to let anyone get away with anything," not for a second did he want her to think anyone was being negligent on Marshall's behalf. "Eleanor's at the office sifting through all the data from the crash site and taking tips from the police station; you know her; she doesn't leave any stone unturned."

He was encouraged when Mary started nodding, although it was shaky and she wouldn't meet his eyes, taking to staring at the ground instead. Jinx tiptoed a little closer, clearly hoping her daughter's temper had burnt out for the time being.

"Maybe you should…go outside and get some air…" while he wasn't a fan of her leaving any area where he could keep an eye on her, he also knew Mary sometimes preferred to be alone when sorting out her feelings. "Or wait here and maybe give Missy a call; see how she's doing…"

"Yes, sweetheart…" the brunette broke in tentatively, her voice no louder than a whisper. "Brandi said earlier that she wanted to talk to you; if she hears from you, she won't be in the dark…"

But, the blonde shook her head, "I'll…I'll call her later…" she put it off for the second time. "Not…not now; not when I'm like this…"

Both Stan and Jinx accepted this, although Mary could tell that the grandmother was against waiting and holding Melissa at arm's length any longer. If she thought it wasn't killing Mary to be apart from her, then she was sorely mistaken, because when she pictured her little girl stuck at home with no news and only Mark and Brandi for company, she ached inside. Of course, her aunt and biological father would take good care of her, but it wasn't the same as having your mother or being right in the center of the fray when every possible piece of news was chucked into the open.

Nonetheless, Mary refused to come undone in front of her child, because God only knew how disturbed she already was just having seen her scream herself hoarse in the middle of the street, lying spread-eagled across Marshall's body. One episode like that was enough for a single day, and as of yet, Mary did not trust herself to keep it together when everything was still so fresh.

Upon seeing that his inspector was at least tranquil enough not to go bursting through the doors, run amok all over town, Stan switched gears, trusting Jinx to tame her until he could return.

"I'm going to step out and make a few more calls," he announced in a low voice. "I may have to drive over to the office and get the scoop from Eleanor in person, but I'll let you know if I leave. All right?"

Mary's timbre was throaty when she responded, "Okay."

"All right?" she didn't sound very sure, and so Stan stepped forward and patted her forearm in his usual fatherly way. "You hang in there, you hear?" it was a brave attempt at his sometimes-gruff persona, but it faltered in the last few words. "Give them some time to patch him up, and I'm sure someone will be out with an update soon."

Even without coining them by name, Mary knew he was referring to the doctors, and she nodded to show she'd heard, watching him disappear across the room and through the pair of doors into the hall. It was then that she sat back down, and without Jinx telling her to this time. The older woman followed suit and immediately fingered her daughter's hair, matronly and maternal as she knew how to be. When her mother had first arrived, her touch had made Mary feel prickly and stand-offish, like Jinx had some disease she didn't watch to catch. Now though, she let her do whatever she wanted; she was immune to the feel of her fingers against her blonde tresses.

"I shouldn't have ripped into him like that."

The even nature of her voice must've told Jinx that it would be okay to pick up the conversation.

"Stan?" she questioned, high-pitched and uncertain. "I'm sure he understands, baby. It'll be long forgotten by the time he comes back."

"I just…I don't know why I need someone to be responsible…" Mary gulped slowly. "…For all this. If…if it's nobody's fault, then it's nobody's fault, but I can't…let it go…"

"Well, I don't know much about psychology," Jinx gave a tinkling little laugh. "But, I think you're just trying to cope the best way you know how. It sounds like that poor man was in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like Marshall…"

Mention of her dear partner brought a lump to Mary's throat and even as she spoke to Jinx she stared straight ahead, right into the door of the vending machine, seeing all the little rows of sweets and yet not taking in a single label all at the same time.

"What if he'd hit Melissa?" her voice cracked and her cheeks grew wet just thinking about it.

"He didn't, angel," Jinx soothed, switching to rubbing her shoulder. "By some miracle, he didn't, and that's something to be thankful for…"

"What if Marshall was in the street because he was trying to help her? If she'd tripped or fallen down like Stan said and he was on the ground pulling her up?" all sorts of theories were flying at random through her very muddled brain. "We never should've left them out there alone; Melissa's balance is so bad, there should've been someone else with her…"

"Mary…" the older murmured, dipping her chin and trying to catch her eye. "What's done is done, sweetheart. No one is to blame. Melissa was not out there alone; Marshall is a grown man…"

"But, she's my kid!" Mary burst, wiping furiously at her eyes and suddenly hating herself for all the times she'd ever dumped her daughter on 'the boys' and told herself it was what was best because it was what Melissa wanted. "She's constantly with the three of them and if I spent more time with her, then…"

"She's Marshall's child too," Jinx reminded her. "Yours, Marshall's, Mark's, and Stan's. That's how it has always been, and that's how it will stay."

But, Mary couldn't count on that being true. What did you do when a little girl had placed all her trust and admiration into a unit of people, and that unit suddenly broke apart? What happened when a group that had always been three suddenly whittled down to two?

XXX

**A/N: An out-of-control Mary is never a good one; she is lethal when riled!**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: A new reviewer! What a pleasant surprise! I am always happy to see names I haven't seen before!**

**I hope you all will bear in mind with this chapter that, as with so many of my other stories, my medical knowledge is minimal and typically comes from places like Wikipedia and Web MD, ha! I do what research I can, but inevitably I am scientifically incorrect many times over.**

XXX

Mary lost track of time, sitting sedentary in the waiting room. For all she knew, it was standing still, immovable and never-ending. There was no window for her to observe how dark it was outside, which would've given her a clue as to the hour. Eventually, she began checking her phone obsessively, and every time she thought thirty minutes, maybe even an hour had gone by, she was constantly disheartened to discover it hadn't even been five minutes; on a good check, closer to seven. Jinx urged her to keep away from clocks and tried to engage her in crossword puzzles and newspaper articles, but she wouldn't devote her attention to any of it. Even if she'd made an effort, her mind would've still been wholly centered on Marshall.

Mary thought he must be in surgery, although no one had come out to tell her as much. When she and Stan had first arrived, a nurse had flung about six different forms at them, most of which were meaningless, but one in particular had been vitally important. It gave the doctors permission to operate if they needed to, thus saving time down the road. One little signature allowed them to do whatever they needed, and she had put down her name at once. Now, however, she was beginning to wish she had been a little more cautious. Perhaps if she hadn't signed Marshall's fate away, booking him a permanent bed in the operating room, someone would've returned to update her, to get her permission each time they had to perform some new procedure. Then, maybe, she might know what was going on.

But instead, here she sat; completely in the dark and wishing every second that she had requested the physicians ask for her sanction each time they needed to cut Marshall open. Numb, hands pressed against her mouth, Jinx rumpled and sleepy at her side, the silence provided plenty of opportunity for Mary to brood over everything that might be going on behind closed doors. Were they stuck in the middle of one surgery that was taking a long time, or were they trying to fix several injuries at once? Was a relatively simple procedure sucking up more minutes than was expected, because something had gone awry? Had Marshall perhaps died on the table and they were still cleaning up the mess?

No, he hadn't died, Mary told herself firmly. Flippant and cavalier, doctors could sometimes be, but someone would've told her if Marshall had gone where he could no longer be dragged back. Deep down, they had to be humane enough not to keep her in suspense with something of that magnitude. And while she wasn't exactly the poster child for sensitivity, she knew from her extensive work with witnesses that you didn't keep them waiting when the news was bad.

It was close to eight o'clock by the time someone finally arrived in their isolated unit. Jinx was nodding off against the headrest of her chair and Stan was long gone, back to the office or to the police station, Mary didn't know which. She just knew that the first sign of life within the hospital was both thrilling and terrifying. Here she had hung on for so long, just for some tiny scrap of news, and now she wasn't sure she wanted to know what was going on. Being in limbo was frightening enough, but dealing with a whole new set of sure-to-be worrisome circumstances was a completely different ballgame.

"Mary Shannon?"

The doctor addressed her from across the room even as he strode in her direction, but she was already up, straightening her top, smoothing her hair, and elbowing Jinx so she would stir and start listening.

"Yes…" the woman answered amidst her shuffling, her mother giving an agitated grunt. "That…that's me…"

"Hi…" the male stuck out his hand and Mary shook it immediately, even before they had been properly introduced. "My name is Doctor Warren; I'm one of the physicians assigned to your husband…"

"One of them?" Mary repeated somewhat blankly. "Is…is it serious enough that more than one is really necessary…?"

She didn't know why she was veering off the path like this. The question she had wanted to ask for hours should've been the only one she allowed to surge forth, because it was the only one that mattered. The number of doctors, the complications, the hardships for the future; all of that could be addressed at a later date. Without waiting for Doctor Warren to respond, Mary spoke through the gap, mentally trying to prepare herself if she heard something she didn't like.

"Is Marshall okay?" her words ran together in her haste to get her head on straight, to burrow for the most pertinent information. "No one's said anything to us since he was brought in; I've been sitting here not knowing if he's dead or alive…"

"He's alive, Mrs. Shannon," Doctor Warren interrupted with a steady nod. "Alive and awake, though he won't be the latter for much longer."

"He's _awake?!"_ this was more than Mary had dared hope for, and her heart gave a huge lurch, landing somewhere in the region of her esophagus. "He's awake…is he talking; can he talk, can I see him?"

She had half a mind to shove the man out of the way, then and there, but Jinx clenched her fingers around her arm and held her back. It was a good thing too, because she had begun to babble and she wasn't going to find out anything if she chattered on without stopping to take a breath.

"Here in a few minutes, you are more than welcome to see him, but as I say, he won't be awake for very long. He's heavily medicated; he would be in considerable pain otherwise, and the meds will conk him out sooner rather than later…"

"So…what…what's taken so long?" Mary continued to fumble, but she got the job done. "What have you been doing; what's wrong with him?"

"Well, his injuries are fairly widespread, but fortunately none of them are overly severe – it is more the combination of wounds that will keep him in the ICU over the next few days," Doctor Warren began, Jinx now clinging so tightly to Mary's arm that she was in danger of cutting off her circulation. "I won't know for certain how he sustained his injuries until we receive a police report…"

"My daughter is the only one who saw what happened," Mary cut in. "She's only eight years old…"

"Not to worry, Mrs. Shannon; we can still effectively treat your husband even without the details," he assured her, which was relief. "We repaired what we could in the past few hours, but right now we're more interested in letting Marshall rest through the night. Given the trauma he suffered, it's unwise to put him through too much at this stage in the game…"

That phrase was eerily familiar to Mary. When she had been in the fire and delivered Melissa shortly after, she had been told by a nurse that she was unable to withstand the intensity of a Pitocin drip just a day after the fact. It seemed Marshall was suffering a similar fate.

"But, thus far, we were able to wrap and stabilize his ankle; he had a third-degree sprain…"

"Oh, my…" Jinx breathed, but Mary shushed her, eager to hear more.

"A sprain to that extent is fairly serious in terms of his mobility. Even once he recovers from the remainder of his injuries, that ankle is going to keep him off his feet for several weeks…"

"What else?" a few weeks was nothing; Mary didn't care if he could walk so long as he was alive.

"Well, he had some minor chest lacerations…"

"Lacerations?" Mary repeated, not liking the sound of this at all and wanting to be clear. "What…what do you mean…?"

"His lung tissue was torn."

A lightheaded, dizzy feeling stole over the woman upon learning this, and she prayed she would not become ill, because the thought of Marshall's lungs ripped into shreds, his beating heart exposed, was too much for her to take. A battered ankle was one thing, but his lungs? Would he be able to breathe? _Was_ he breathing, even now?

"I know it sounds serious, Mrs. Shannon, and it certainly can be, but we're keeping an eye on him, and fortunately Marshall's were very slight. We were able to go right in and repair the damage remarkably quickly; now we'll just have to watch his recovery…"

No matter what Doctor Warren said, the blonde didn't see how there was anything underwhelming about a frayed lung, but since he was telling her not to concern herself, she did her best not to come unglued.

"So…other than that, is he pretty much…?"

"The only other injury we need to discuss is his leg."

"His leg?" Jinx was clearly dying to get a word in. "What's wrong with his leg? I thought you said his ankle…?"

"Well, his right tibia seems to have taken the brunt of the damage…"

"Is his bad ankle on his right leg too?" Mary wanted to know.

"Yes," Doctor Warren confirmed. "I don't know for sure, but his ankle showed signs of having been weakened before he suffered such a brutal sprain. I am certainly not a forensics expert, but my guess is that he could not support his own weight when he was hit by the truck, and his ankle and tibia took most of the impact…" He paused to take a breath and then continued, "Right now, we've stabilized his tibia, but we won't operate on the break until tomorrow morning. Overloading him with anesthesia at this point wouldn't benefit him in the least, and we need to let him gain some more stamina before another operation."

When the silence cloaked all three of them following this speech, Mary allowed herself only the smallest margin of hope, because it sounded like the physician had said all he was going to say. Was this everything? Could she now, miraculously, move forward and start renovating her house to accommodate a Marshall who wasn't going to be able to walk? That was small potatoes compared to everything else that could've occurred, and it was hard not to think there was something Doctor Warren was leaving out of the equation.

"So…that's what we're dealing with?" she finally voiced guardedly. "His ankle…his leg…and his chest. Otherwise, he's all right?"

"For now, yes," it was heartening that the man didn't waste any time, and Mary's limbs began to jangle with a kind of frenzied excitement. "Although, very drugged up; if you want to see him, now would be the time," he warned. "We're going to sedate him further overnight to ensure he gets as much sleep as possible. We ran CT scans on him when he first came in, just to check his brain activity, and we should receive those results sometime tomorrow," tacking one tiny facet on the end. "It's difficult to know how his brain is really functioning when he's so heavily medicated, so we should get a better read on that soon."

Mary scarcely heard him. All she heard was that she was going to be allowed to lay eyes on Marshall, bruised and mangled though he might be, maybe even hear his voice if she was particularly lucky. Nervous laughter that belonged to Jinx was ringing in her ears; she didn't know whether to order Doctor Warren to show her the way or to hug him for bringing decent news. She was aimless as could be, and yet could see the light shimmering so very far in the distance – a sign that it might be reasonable, just now, to wish for happier days down the road.

"You…you said I could see him; where is he?"

"I'll send a nurse out in just a minute to take you back," Doctor Warren promised. "It will be brief, and then I would advise you getting some rest yourself; he should be stable overnight until we operate again in the morning."

"Okay…" Mary chirped somewhat drunkenly, nodding her head. "Okay…thank-you…"

"Thank-you," Jinx repeated. "Thank-you so much."

Doctor Warren nodded as well, "Of course."

Mary watched him go, blinked at him disappearing back the direction he'd come, and it was only when she was sure that he was gone that she sighed so loudly that the receptionist behind she and Jinx actually jumped. Exhausted and limp with something between lingering worry and respite, the younger's head fell onto her mother's shoulder, closing her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lighting. Mary couldn't imagine they were anywhere near out of the woods, but they could glimpse the horizon line. For the past few hours, she had been going over her last interaction with Marshall in her head, standing on the front porch and bellowing her old familiar line that she forever used with Melissa – 'be careful.'

That would not be her 'last time.' Those would not be her final words. Though she tried not to place too much stock in Doctor Warren's insistence that Marshall was awake for the time being, she could hardly restrain herself from darting through the double doors after him, waiting for the nurse be damned.

Jinx was actually chuckling, something Mary could not succumb to yet, but she was sure it was borne out of nerves, and she was the first to speak, seeing that her child wasn't capable because she was so consumed in liberation.

"He's fine, honey; he's going to be just fine!" the brunette twittered gaily, jostling Mary's shoulders in an almost manic way. "Oh, thank God…"

"Something like that," the other mumbled in a low voice. "Oh, Jesus, mom…" this came with another exhale, and she felt Jinx take her head and cradle it briefly against her chest; in a smart move, she let go quickly, knowing Mary didn't take kindly to lingering affection. "I…I don't know what I would've done…"

Her heart was still thudding uncontrollably, the tips of her fingers and toes tingling, but the longer she sat with it, the more she believed what Jinx had just trumpeted for everyone to hear. Was this how Marshall himself had felt when he'd finally been able to bring her back to consciousness after the fire? How had he been able to stand it? He'd been all by himself, and it was down to him to pull her back to earth. Mary wasn't sure she'd be able to be that noble.

"You don't have to think about that now, sweetheart…" Jinx was ready to write to the papers, rhapsodizing about her son-in-law's act of heroism in saving Missy from harm. "We both know this isn't over yet, but now you can just be glad he's going to make it…"

One step at a time was exactly how they were going to have to take it. Rubbing her eyes, which were sparkling with tears once more, Mary swept her lank hair off her forehead, still waiting in high anticipation for the nurse to come out and show her the way to her partner.

"Melissa is going to be thrilled…" the inspector recalled her daughter, feeling badly that it seemed to be as something of an afterthought. "She has to be losing her mind holed up with Mark and Brandi…"

"Should I call her while you're visiting with Marshall?" Jinx offered up at once. "You're right; she doesn't know anything, and to give her some good news would be…"

"No…" Mary was half-hoping the little girl would've gone down for the night, although it was still slightly early, and she didn't want her sister fabricating tales of Marshall's well-being. "I'm going to go home after I see him, and then I can tell her in person…"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah…if she's asleep I don't want her getting wound up…" this was pretty feeble, but she stuck to her guns. "And with Brandi there, that's definitely going to happen…"

Before the older could protest that she was sure Brandi would keep Melissa in check, the promised nurse beckoned to Mary from across the room, and there was no holding her back after that. Jinx might as well have vanished, because Mary left her standing rooted to the spot and all-but-sprinted across the linoleum, nearly bowling the nurse over in her quest to be with her husband.

She was surprised to find that the inner hallways of the ICU were not that different from the remainder of the hospital – spaced further apart, and slightly larger to accommodate for additional machines, but otherwise the difference was not substantial. The woman leading Mary hadn't even been given a proper hello, and shot her a small smile; she was considerably shorter than Mary and had to glance upward to manage it.

"You've been waiting a long time," she observed with a chuckle at just how fast Mary was walking, almost stepping on her heels. "I'm assigned to Marshall's room for as long as he's here," she shared, still trying to smile. "Felicity," with a nod to indicate that this was her name.

"Um…Mary…" the other grumbled out of obligation, sounding as though she'd forgotten her own moniker in her rush to get down the hall. "Felicity, you said?" she'd only been half-listening upon being introduced.

"Right," a shaky chortle escaped. "Felicity…or Flicka, if you want…"

The nickname definitely got Mary's attention, rather against her will, because she couldn't fathom anyone, especially a grown woman, wanting to be called something that made her think of woodland fairies. Her skepticism must've shown on her face, but fortunately Felicity laughed for a third time and shrugged her shoulders as if to indicate she garnered raised eyebrows on this subject quite frequently.

"I'm not fond of it either, to be honest," she admitted. "I was Flicka as a kid and it stuck; when I got older I tried to go back to Felicity, but then there was that TV show with the tall girl – the one with the bushy hair…" Mary only sort of remembered, but nodded anyway, waiting for her to commence with the small talk. "So it never really caught on either. Whichever is fine, although I can promise you if I ever have kids that I'll put more thought into their names…"

"My sister's having a baby," Mary broke in dully just for something to contribute. "So, I'll tell her to bear that in mind. Although, she's having a boy, so I guess we don't have to worry about her naming him 'Felicity.' Although, with _my_ sister, you can never be sure…"

The nurse grinned, "Do you and Mr. Mann have children? If it's not presumptuous that I'm asking…"

Mary didn't think twice about labels or terms when it came to parents because she never had. The memory of the meeting with Miss Newman and Regina Hodges had been pushed all the way to the back of her mind; it might as well have existed in another lifetime.

"A girl," she spoke up, her throat feeling oddly dry at the thought of Melissa. "She's eight." This reminded her of something that she wished she had asked Doctor Warren and decided Felicity's insight would have to do. "Is she too young to visit Marshall if he's still in the ICU? Do they let kids come back here?"

"Unless Marshall were to take an unexpectedly serious turn, I am fairly certain that Doctor Warren would let her come by for a short visit," the shorter proclaimed. "We just urge the parents to know their children well enough to know whether they can handle a place like the intensive care unit, but if you think your daughter wouldn't be frightened…"

"No…" Mary said at once. "Melissa's…not an ordinary eight-year-old. She'd be fine."

Felicity's only answer was another half-smile, and the blonde immediately saw why she had refrained from saying anymore on the subject. They had come to a halt outside a heavy wooden door, a tiny sliver of window cut into the right-hand-edge so you could just barely glimpse the scene inside. All Mary saw were a pair of legs reclined on the bottom half of a bed, one of which was heavily bandaged. Her palms began to sweat at being so close, her eagerness to be with her partner wreaking havoc on the strain she was already experiencing.

But, the nurse turned to look up at her once more, which told the inspector she was going to have to wait a minute or two longer before being allowed to venture inside.

"Now…I understand that Doctor Warren filled you in on Marshall's more severe injuries, so you will have to be gentle…"

"Of course…of course…" Mary wasn't even insulted; all she cared about was going into the room.

"He is pretty banged up, but most of the bruises you'll see will heal – good as new – in just a few days, so just bear that in mind…"

"Right…right…"

"I'm sorry about the spiel; Doctor Warren said you're both US Marshals so I'm sure you're used to this sort of thing…"

"No, its okay…" anything to shut her up and get them moving. "I understand."

"All right," Felicity concluded. "Well then, you can go ahead. Hopefully he'll still be awake."

Whatever trepidation Mary was still feeling, it wasn't enough to stop her from heeding the woman's advice – cheesy name, polka dot scrubs and all – and pushing her way through the door. It was hard to believe she'd just seen Marshall, alive and well, that afternoon, because it felt like it had been weeks. She was constantly amazed at the way the mind worked in times of tragedy; it took you out of yourself, turned you into an astonishingly different person. When Mary recalled how she had behaved as Marshall had lain motionless in the road, she was stunned. It was so unlike her, and yet if she were to go back and relive the whole horrifying experience, she couldn't say she would've reacted any other way.

Marshall was her whole world, outside of Melissa. The thought of losing either one – or, God forbid, both of them – had sent her clean over the edge. Only now was she able to start vigilantly scaling the mountain once more, no matter how treacherous the journey.

Marshall's room was quiet, almost too quiet, but Mary was just glad there wasn't anything to disturb him. A second nurse was fiddling with the IV bag, the needle wending its way into the man's left wrist. Mary's boots made the only sound, clicking and clacking loudly across the slick floor – a floor so shiny she could see her face in the tiles. Once she was close enough to get a good look at him, her breath caught uncomfortably in her throat, snagging against her vocal chords. Felicity had tried to prepare her, had tried to warn her that Marshall's condition was poor, and yet seeing it gave the admonition an entirely new meaning.

Fair-skinned to begin with, with just a hint of stubble always adorning his cheeks and chin, Marshall was ghostly pale, like he had lost half the blood supply in his face alone. The whiskers combing his mouth stood out starkly against the white of his skin, but the color of a beard coming in was nothing compared to the ghastly purple bruises blossoming under his eyes and in other bare patches of his flesh.

His right lid had a perfectly black ring forming a C shape over the top and bottom of his eye. Even his nose looked as though it had been bruised – by the ground, or by his catching his fall, Mary didn't know. Tiny slashes decorated the whole of his face, most of which had bled and begun to heal over, helped along by the fine lines of white tape obscuring the cuts from the open air. His normally overly styled hair lay limp over his forehead and when Mary looked down to avoid studying the way his handsome face had been torn up, she saw that there was a huge gash bandaged on his forearm. Wrappings from wrist-to-elbow concealed the marks, but she knew that the sight underneath couldn't be pretty.

Nonetheless, he was here. He was Marshall, and he was still here – all in one piece, even if he'd gotten beat up along the way. His eyes were closed, and he was breathing slowly and semi-serenely through his nose, the hospital gown covering whatever scars he might have from the chest lacerations. The other nurse did not speak, merely acknowledged Mary with a quick jerk of her head. Pent-up emotion was overwhelming her quickly, and she suddenly realized how disappointed she was that he appeared to have gone under, not able to stay up to say goodnight, even though she knew it wasn't his fault.

Knowing she hadn't come in for nothing, Mary reached for one of his stiff hands, which was just as large but not nearly as warm as it usually was. It felt so good to feel his bones against hers, but he was so lifeless that if she hadn't been able to see him breathing, she'd have started to wonder if he was even conscious. Unsure what else she could do and knowing her time was limited, Mary settled for a soft whisper, even though she felt certain that the man couldn't hear her.

"Marshall…?"

She was wrong. The sound of his name in the otherwise silent-as-the-tomb ICU stirred him however temporarily, his eyes flickering to life so furiously that it seemed as though he'd forgotten how to work them. Even so, after a few second's patience, the blinking slowed, and Mary saw the endless, cloudless sky blue of his orbs staring back at her through minuscule slits in his otherwise careworn face.

"Mary…?"

His voice was deep and laced with fatigue; even four letters was an effort for him to speak aloud. And yet, to Mary, it was as though he had sat up in bed, thrown his arms around her and then proceeded to have a full-length conversation about everything from WITSEC to what should go in Melissa's lunch the next day. Finally, she was able to emit a laugh reminiscent of the one Jinx had allowed to escape earlier, and with it came dribbles of tears leaking unashamedly onto her cheeks.

"Hi…" her tone trembled, tears shimmering in the bright light, and she gave his hand a rough squeeze. "You look terrible…" she continued to laugh to show she was joking, hating herself for masking her fears with teasing, and yet not knowing what else to do.

But, Marshall just made a noise that sounded like, "Mmm…" and shut his eyes once more. In his self-created darkness, he managed a question. "Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," she promised, sniffling and thinking it was just like him to be concerned about her well-being over his own. "Better now that I've seen you."

Here, he forced his eyes back open another time, clearly determined for one last look no matter how taxing it might be.

"I wanted to see you too…" he croaked lethargically, which was followed by a sigh. "Make sure…you were all right…"

"I'm fine," she swore. "You're going to be fine too; you'll see. It's hell right now; I know it is, but it has to get worse before it gets better."

"Mmm hmm…"

"Listen…" Mary longed to stay with him, but she also despised seeing him in what was obvious pain and knew she needed to do what was best for him at the moment. "I'm going to let you sleep, but I wanted you to know I was here. I'll be back in the morning before the surgery, but I need to get home and be with Melissa…"

This caused Marshall's brow to furrow so deeply that it made his bruises scrunch inward, and he winced before saying what was on his mind.

"Melissa?"

Assuming he was worried about her, because he couldn't know what had happened after the truck had hit him; Mary hurried to ease his mind before he drifted off again.

"The car didn't touch her; all she got were some scrapes on her hands from where she tripped on the curb. She's great…" this was a stretch, but Marshall probably wouldn't notice. "Mark and Brandi are with her, but I need to relieve them."

More befuddlement crossed Marshall's face then; he seemed too out-of-it to really comprehend what Mary was saying, and settled for repeating her once again.

"Mark…?" the name was uttered blankly. "He's…good? He'll…keep her safe…?"

"Of course he will," Mary figured her partner was a little lost and wasn't putting the pieces together very quickly, which was understandable. "Of course; he's wonderful with her. She's fine."

"But…Brandi…?"

This time, she bypassed his obvious uncertainty, "Brandi's getting her practice in for when she's got her own rug-rat to take care of."

All this earned her was another, "Mmm…" which probably said he was tired of talking and didn't have the energy to continue any further. "Stan…cleaning up my mess?"

"It wasn't a mess you made, Marshall," Mary couldn't stand to have him think he had been at all negligent, that if he had somehow been more cognizant or more aware that he could've prevented the crash from happening. "I know your old pal Freud said, 'there are no accidents,' but we're both going to have to accept that this is the exception. You are no bum and all hero."

Only for him would she admit that the wreck hadn't been anyone's fault; he would never know how she had battled against the 'accident' terminology just hours before.

"But…Stan…" he preserved, even as he swallowed so deliberately that Mary could see a lump go down his throat. "He's…taking care of…everything…?"

Briefly, Mary wondered what, exactly, Marshall thought their boss might be doing, because what had happened wasn't a WITSEC issue. Nonetheless, he couldn't know, having been practically comatose, if Aaron Cunningham had been drunk or texting or anything else so careless. And, he knew Stan was the best of the best when it came to deadbeats.

"Him and Banks and Eleanor," she compressed his hand again for good measure. "All three of them are on it."

That same perplexed look flitted in the man's haggard face for a third time and it was starting to make Mary uneasy. There was no reason not to expect him to be groggy and bemused, between being run over and then loaded up with so much medication. And still, a Marshall who didn't know which end was up wasn't a Marshall she was familiar with. Somehow, even though he'd almost been beaten to a pulp, she still expected him to be his usual brilliant self – displaying the honed, oh-so-impressive intelligence that he had passed on to Missy.

Instead, he continued to scowl as much as he could with his face so battered, the slivers that were his eyes darting slowly back and forth.

"Eleanor…?" he said her name in the same tone he had uttered Melissa's, Mark's, and Brandi's – like they didn't mean anything to him. "…Eleanor's…here?"

"At the office," Mary clarified. "With Stan. I promise I will let him know that you're on the mend and he'll give me an update on the driver of the pick-up, okay?"

"Right…" he groaned, shifting slightly in the bed, which was a mistake because it clearly caused him some margin of discomfort. "Yeah…"

For as much as Mary wanted to pound him with reassurances – just like Jinx and Stan had been trying to do with her for the past three hours – it seemed that her onslaught of information was too much for him. He was too tired and too mixed up to take anything in, and she did her best not to show just how upsetting it was to see him so confused. It made her feel selfish to want more of what she considered the 'real' Marshall. This timid, worn out, bewildered version wasn't the husband she knew and loved, but she should just be grateful she was talking to him at all. There was every possibility she could've been talking to a lifeless statue, but she wasn't.

And so, she clamped down on her tears, though several wobbled out without her consent. It was time to leave Marshall to his thoughts, helter-skelter as they might be, because nothing could be better for him than rest at this point. That was one of the few things Mary could be sure of.

"I'm…gonna get going now, all right?" she spoke slightly louder than normal to ensure he would hear her. "Try to get some sleep. I'll be back in the morning," she reminded him.

His fingers trembled inside her palm, nails catching her skin as they searched for something to hold onto.

"Thank…thank-you for coming…"

Something about his gratitude was oddly heartbreaking for Mary, and she had to fight a lot harder not to cry. Where else did he think she would be?

"What is it those intellectuals like you say?" she made a solid stab at joking one more time. "Wild horses couldn't keep me away? Or supposedly hot-shot doctors," she added.

When he didn't say anything else, the blonde leaned down, still clutching his hand firmly in hers, and dipped her chin right beside his ear. It was one of the few parts of him that was not going to be scarred in the days to come, and stooping so close to him, she could count all the bristles of hair on his cheeks, finger the eyelashes fluttering against his closed lids.

Her whisper was as calm as she could make it, knowing if she created a production that it would just prompt another flood of waterworks.

"I love you."

It was freeing to say it, but the response was nothing that Mary could've expected. If possible, Marshall looked his most puzzled yet, staring at his wife like such a phrase coming out of her mouth was disorienting. He'd heard it many times in the last eight years, and so she couldn't understand why he wasn't at least a little pleased, even if he couldn't muster the vigor to show it. At the very least, she expected him to say it in return but, once again, settled for repeating himself.

"Thank-you…"

And still, there were worse replies that Mary could've received. After all, a remarkable little girl with red hair and freckles – a little girl who had all-but brought her to this moment as Marshall's wife – had taught her that expressing your appreciation took precedence over everything else. So strong was Cassidy's need to show her thanks that Mary had truly taken it to heart, and passed those manners on to Melissa.

So, that was why she jerked a smile into place and ran her hand over Marshall's untidy dark hair, trained to put up a front even when she was lost underneath.

"You're welcome," she murmured soundly. "And same to you."

XXX

**A/N: So, Marshall is alive – so, there's that! Rejoice LOL!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I am so fortunate to have people who take the time to tell my how much they enjoy my work! It would be a hundred times harder to keep writing if I didn't have the support! But, as you all know, I never post until the story is completely written, so no worries about me disappearing on this tale. ;) **

XXX

Before this appalling Wednesday, smack in the middle of the week, Mary wouldn't have believed the act of simply waiting could be so draining. But, after what had felt like endless hours sitting around wringing her hands, and then spending all of five minutes with Marshall, she was both emotionally and physically drained. If she hadn't known better, she would've thought she had been the one mauled by the mouth of the truck. It was just short of agonizing for her to leave Marshall with no one to keep him company, but was assured ad nauseam that he would soon not even know whether she was there or not. Frankly, Mary couldn't help thinking he had-had trouble realizing she was present even when he was awake, but saw no point splitting hairs. If she didn't learn to focus on the positives, this was going to be a very long road to recovery.

And, in spite of feeling guilty about leaving her husband behind, the woman couldn't say she was all together sorry to depart the hospital, and the sight of her own home when she pulled into the dark driveway was a definite relief. Mark or Brandi had left the porch light on so she would at least be able to see as she walked up the steps. The door was locked when she approached it, and so she fumbled with her key for several minutes before dragging herself onto the threshold, met with only the hue of the lamp on the end table, all other illumination extinguished.

Due to the dankness of the living room and kitchen, Mary felt certain that the whole of the house must be asleep, even though it wasn't even nine o'clock. Indeed, she was mostly correct in her assumptions, because when she stepped further in and shut the door behind her, she saw that both Brandi and Melissa were conked out on the couch. Her sister had fallen asleep sitting upright, her head lolling sideways onto the cushion, her right hand lying flat against her rotund belly. Missy was curled in a ball on one end of the sofa, her knees pulled to her chest, still in her overalls. Someone had removed her glasses, and they lay folded on a pile of magazines.

Even from afar, Mary could tell she had been run ragged by worry; there were tear tracks lining her face. In spite of her disheveled appearance, Brandi must've decided to try and pass the time playing stylist. Melissa's hair was not in its usual sloppy ponytail, but elaborate French braids, which could only be the work of a nervous aunt looking for something to do.

Neither stirred when the inspector wandered in, but she was almost pleased to discover she was not coming home to a practically empty house. Mark was still there, and apparently holding down the fort, because he wasn't zonked just yet. His face was buried behind the newspaper from where he sat in the chair by the front window, but when he heard Mary's footsteps, he peered over the top to see his ex-wife looking back at him. He gave a bright, boyish smile at her appearance and folded the paper at once, tossing it to the coffee table.

"Hey…" he alone seemed to be able to find something to grin about, even if did just come in the form of seeing Mary.

"Hi…" she greeted him with much less enthusiasm, dumping her entire tote, plus her keys and sunglasses onto the coffee table beside his newspaper. Glancing at the two snoozing individuals, "When did she go down?"

"Missy?" Mark questioned, getting to his feet. "Maybe an hour ago. Brandi practically tried to force-feed her macaroni and cheese around seven, but she wouldn't eat, and not long after that she fell asleep watching TV."

"I am so sorry I didn't call…" the apologies were fairly empty, but they needed to be said. "I just wouldn't have had anything to say and I was terrified I'd lose my shit in front of Melissa again; nobody needs to see that show twice…"

"It's fine…" Mark waved this away, nonchalant as ever. "Between the two of us, Brandi and I did an okay job keeping Missy Jean pretty calm – as calm as she was going to be…"

"Thank-you so much for staying with her," she was just pouring benevolence tonight. "I wouldn't have wanted her with just Brandi; I'm glad it was a tag-team effort…"

"Well, me too, to be honest…" he chuckled darkly. "I didn't know what the hell I was doing half the time, but I tried…"

"I'm sure you handled it," Mary told him. "If you want to go home now, you can…" she waved to indicate the door. "I'm in for the night; I'm not going back to the hospital until tomorrow morning…"

"No, I can stay a few minutes," he obviously wanted to stick around to make sure she didn't need anything. Slipping his hands into his pockets, he got to the heart of the matter quickly; Mary was surprised it had taken them this long. "How are you; how's Marshall? Is he in pretty bad shape, or…?"

Judging by the fact that Mary was here at the house and not bawling her eyes out, Mark must've assumed Marshall was still alive. It was a good guess and, once again, the woman berated herself to be indebted to it. Nothing else mattered except that her partner was alive; if she acted in any way like he was deficient, especially in front of Melissa, she would just look small and petty, like he was somehow lacking.

"He is…not in the best shape," Mary finally admitted, using the man's phrasing. "He broke his leg, but they can't operate on him until tomorrow; he's got a gruesome ankle sprain and…" Even though his remaining injury was the one that was the least visible, for some reason it upset Mary the most. "Some…some of his lung tissue was torn…"

Seeing that this was difficult for her to recount, Mark patted her shoulder gruffly, and the motion forced Mary into further speech, into trying to sound more upbeat, even though she had begun to cry again without meaning to.

"But…but he's okay…" she choked out, her face feeling hot both from tears and from having Mark watch her melt down again. "You know…he could be a lot worse…"

"What did they do about his lungs?" the man asked skeptically, taking his cue from Mary and deciding this had to be the most severe of his abnormalities. "Is he breathing on his own…?"

"They…they already patched them up; they said the lacerations weren't that big…" she recounted. "As far as I could tell, he was breathing fine; I talked to him before I left…"

"You talked to him?" Mark raised his eyebrows incredulously; like the woman, he obviously hadn't expected Marshall would be awake. "And he talked back; he sounded all right?"

"I…I guess…"

But, the gratitude for having a spouse that was still living was quickly splintering before her very eyes. She was weary, strung out with worry and waiting so long, only to receive so very little at the end of the tunnel. Knowing she was glad that Marshall looked like he was going to make it didn't change how unnecessarily disappointed she was that her husband hadn't seemed happier to see her. He'd been so drugged and doped up; Mary might've been any average Joe on the street. Outside of uttering her name when she'd first walked in, he had given no sign that he knew her from a new witness.

Furiously, she swiped at her eyes, not wanting a tantrum to wake up her daughter. In an effort to be tactful as well, Mark lowered his voice as he dug for more details.

"What?" he whispered curiously. "Marshall…what? He didn't say anything back to you – is that it?"

"No, he did…"

"But, what happened?"

"He just…" Mary exhaled slowly, trying to get a grip on herself. "He seemed so confused; he was really out-of-it…"

Mark seemed to have a ready-made answer for this, "I'm sure he _was_ confused, Mare; think about what he went through," there was no condescension in his tone, just a gentle reminder. "Once he's had some time to heal, he'll be back to his old, genius self; you'll see…" he was like Brandi, always thinking the best when the worst was far more plausible. "I'm sure he just needs some time to catch up; that's all…"

"I know…" and she did know; it just didn't make it any easier to deal with. "I know…" raking her fingers through her hair, she blew out, not wanting Mark to think he had to hang around any longer simply to watch her be in a shambles. "You…you really should go home and go to bed; I'll have things covered here…"

"Are you sure?" his brown eyes were round and anxious about leaving her by herself. "I don't mind staying, really…"

"You've stayed enough," secretly, she didn't want a full house, in spite of how much she cared about Mark. "I've got Squish; I'll get her to stay the night if I need anything."

"Three jittery women all by their lonesome, one of them about to give birth any second…" Mark joshed, cocking his head to one side. "Yeah, that doesn't make me nervous at all…"

Mary gave a shaky laugh at him describing the Shannon women as such and was happy to see him smile back. Unlike Marshall, he really would leave if she made him; he was noble to a point, but he also knew when he'd worn out his welcome, because Mary wasn't a person who liked to have relatives smothering her, no matter how well-intentioned their efforts. Deep down, she also knew he'd be back in a second if she sounded the alarm, and she had that to comfort her as well.

"I'll be calling on you soon enough," she swore as she gestured toward the front door to see him out. "There's no telling how long Marshall will be in the hospital and Stan is going to be up to his ears at work; someone's going to have to bunk with Melissa."

"I'm happy to do the honors," he declared. "Just say the word."

"Thanks."

They had reached the door, Mark turning the knob and seeing himself out onto the stoop. He still seemed hesitant about bidding her farewell so quickly, but the promises that she had every intention of ringing him up again in the future was probably dampening whatever concerns he still had. Leaning in the doorframe, he blinked sweetly up at her, his dark chocolate eyes all kindness and innocence. More often than not, he reminded Mary of a small boy – hungry for fun, able to go a million miles an hour, only finding time to stop when his first grade crush needed a kiss on the cheek.

"Stay strong, gorgeous," he swooned, but even the flowery nickname didn't convince Mary there was anything between them but friendship. "I'm sure it seems bleak right now, but things will start to look up before you know it…"

"Sometimes I wonder how I survive with all you idealists running around," she sighed sleepily. "Between you and Jinx and Stan, I'm going to gag on all your clichés."

"Well, it comes with the territory," Mark chuckled. "Say goodnight to Missy Jean for me."

"I will."

"All right…"

Leaning in, like Mary was playing the role of that 'first grade crush' she had depicted in her mind, he laid a fluttering peck on her cheek, patting her back only briefly in what could only be considered one half of a hug. Still, it was better than nothing, and it was the simplicity of it all that caused her not to splinter at his affections.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow," he finished. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she murmured back.

With that, he was gone, trotting back down the drive to his car, which was parked at the curb. Even in the darkness, Mary could see from where she stood in the doorway that every last bit of debris from the accident had been cleared away. The neighbors were back in their houses, snug and safe, with only a thrilling tale to tell their closest companions, counting their lucky stars it wasn't their loved one that had been plowed into without warning. Mary wished, just for a moment, that she could step inside one of those homes, into the life of someone who was a spectator, and not right in the tangled web that had been strung up that afternoon. But, then she shut the door, knowing it did no good to dwell on who she could be when the only person she could truly embody was herself.

Unsure what to do about Brandi and Melissa until she resigned herself to waking her daughter, unwise though it was, Mary wandered into the kitchen and snapped on the light over the sink. The remains of what should've been her daughter's dinner were still in a pot beside the stove. The macaroni had gone cold and was congealed together; Mary couldn't imagine it would taste very good after sitting out, not that she was particularly hungry. Knowing she would regret not eating in the morning but without any real conviction to open the fridge, she threw herself down in one of the barstools at the island. Melissa's backpack was lying on the floor, a clutter of papers dusting the junk can she had rummaged in earlier in the day.

In hindsight, the inspector was beginning to wish she had asked Mark to hang around; her mood was difficult to decipher, which only made her more frustrated. When she was with other people, she wanted to run away, longing for solitude and a chance to think. And yet, when she actually got the opportunity to examine her thoughts, she was lonely and needed company. One thing was for sure, the house that she had shared with Marshall for eight years now was not really 'home' without him.

Averting her gaze to the tabletop in front of her, she saw that the pieces of paper positioned almost directly in front of her nose were not just any old scraps. They were the forms from Mary's meeting with Courtney Newman and Regina Hodges – the ones she and Mark needed to sign in order to put her into the gifted program. That conference seemed like it was light years ago and Mary covered her face with her hands at the prospect of moving forward with operations without Marshall to oversee the decision. It seemed so trivial in light of everything that had happened; the blonde no longer cared one way or the other where her daughter went at school so long as she was happy.

It was hard to say what Mary did, exactly, that made enough noise to cause a person to rouse from sleep. It might have been her overly dramatic sigh. It might've been her drumming her fingers on the countertop, or the mere sound of her shuffling the papers against one another. Whatever the reason, however, in seconds she heard something that sounded like a grunt, which transitioned into a squeaking whimper. Whipping around, hair whirling about her face, she saw Melissa shifting against the throw pillows, rejoining the world of living at last.

It didn't take long once she came to-to realize that something was off. She was a very smart girl, after all. With a series of rapid blinks, Mary could see her stare wide-eyed at the space in front of her and she panicked at once.

"I can't see…Brandi, I can't see!" with her aunt beside her, she couldn't observe her slumbering form, and didn't think to turn around. "Where are my glasses? I need my glasses!"

Mary was out of her seat and across the room in the space of about two seconds. Fuzzy and disoriented, Melissa didn't register her presence right away, and her already bad eyesight was soon clouded by tears brought on by confusion.

"I need my glasses…I need my glasses! Brandi…!"

"Hey…"

Scrambling on the table, Mary located the tiny frames and held them out, slipping them seamlessly into her daughter's palm.

"That vision of yours is worse than I thought…" she found herself taunting, almost like her old self, putting on the best act she possessed when it was for Melissa. "Did you forget your aunt's the size of a blimp these days?" Leaning on her knees so she was inches from the little girl's face as she fumbled to place the glasses on the bridge of her nose, "I'm not Brandi, sweets…"

Obscuring her enormous, dazzling green eyes behind her spectacles, it was evident the minute Melissa was able to see properly, because she beamed through her tears. She'd fallen asleep during a nightmare and awoken to the greatest ending she could've hoped for.

"MOM!"

"Shh…" Mary placed a finger to her lips, but she grinned as well, and most of it was genuine. "The actual Brandi's still asleep…"

"Mama – mama!" scrambling up with incredible speed, Melissa was soon perched on the cushions of the couch, but there was no danger of her balance setting her back this time, because Mary had scooped her up and was holding her high in her arms before she could begin to tip over. "Where's Marshall? Where's Marshall? Is he okay? Is he hurt?"

But, Mary had to allow herself a second's contentment before delving into specifics. Holding Marshall's hand had been captivating, true. And the kiss from Mark had been very charming – a comfort that reminded her of day's past. But this, arms wound around her forever-bite-sized child, there was nothing like it in the world.

Melissa alone would understand the hell Mary had been ensconced in. Their shrieks and screams from that afternoon, bystanders in such a ghastly accident, had been identical in their horror. For all of the woman's babble about how there was no 'number one' in Melissa's life – no father, no parent outside of her mother – there was still no pretending that the loss of Marshall wouldn't have been a devastating, lasting blow to the little girl. He _was_ her father and more, whether they put such a label on it or not.

"Mom, where is he? Can I see him? Please can I go and see him in the morning?" Melissa was still chattering even as her mother basked in getting to be at one with her. "He didn't die…he can't have died…Mark and Brandi said so, but I knew they might be lying, I knew they didn't really know, and you're going to be so mad at me if he's dead; it's all my fault, mama…I'm so sorry I got him hurt…"

"Melissa, calm down…" Mary finally cut into her string of prattling, patting her back lightly, everything she had said weighing heavily on how she responded. "Marshall didn't die…"

"He didn't?!" she had been talking through a steady stream of tears, pouring fresh on her sleep-dusted cheeks, but this stopped her in her tracks. "You promise?!"

"I promise, sweets. He didn't die," Mary tried to sound firm. "I don't think he's going to, either. There are no guarantees, you know that, but…"

"How do you know? How do you know that he…?"

"I saw him. I talked to him."

"_Really?!"_

"Really."

"Then can't he come home? Can't he get better here at home?"

"No," Mary shook her head, and then forced herself to pull away from the little one, drawing back to look into her wet face. With one hand, she wiped the stains from beneath her glasses so they wouldn't fog and Melissa gave a hefty sniffle, one that made her chest tremble against Mary's. "He's really banged up; he has a broken leg and a sprained ankle and they had to fix a problem in his lungs…"

"But, once he learns to use crutches, he can come home, right?" Melissa persisted, not about to give up. "That's what people do when they hurt their legs and feet and stuff – they walk with crutches or use a wheelchair or something."

"I don't know when he'll get to come home," the mother had to admit, feeling a little downhearted thinking about it. "I hope it won't be too long, but as soon as he's up to it, I will take you to see him."

"When will that be?"

"I don't know that either," Mary hated to be of so little help, but she was being honest. "I just barely saw him tonight, girly, and he was really tired…"

This must've reminded Melissa of her prior confession, because she suddenly wilted, her whole form seemingly shrinking in Mary's grasp. Fancy French braids aside, she was unquestionably downtrodden, searching desperately for answers that would say she hadn't set this entire ordeal in motion.

"Mark and Brandi didn't make me talk about it, but…" her voice was low and shameful, and Mary scowled, no idea where she was headed. "…Mom…"

But, the second grader soon became too distraught to utter much else. Lip trembling, limbs shaking, she was still in a shambles in spite of gaining a quick nap, and Mary knew the best thing would be to get her back in bed as soon as possible. She needed an escape from everything she had experienced in what had become a very long day. Clucking her tongue, she shook her head, running her hand over one of those braids, encouraging her to quiet down, to cease worrying – at least for tonight.

"Whatever you need to say, Melissa, it doesn't matter right now…"

"Yes, it does!" she burst furiously, and it was at this point that Brandi began to come around, all the noise pulling her from her deep dreams. "If it hadn't been for me, Marshall would be okay! It was all because of me – I'm a stupid klutz!"

Mary's anger took over before she could stop herself, "You are not stupid and you are not a klutz!" she roared, surprising even herself at how sharp she sounded. "I don't want to hear you talk like that anymore!"

Though her reprimand had been succinct and to the point, the jagged tone in her voice was obviously too much for Melissa, who certainly did not need to be berated when she was already feeling so badly. Immediately, Mary backed down, guilt swarming her like hives for having lost her temper so unexpectedly, especially when her daughter produced another watershed of tears.

"Sweets, I'm sorry; I shouldn't have yelled…"

"I knew you'd be mad…!"

"No, Melissa…" Mary was quick to refute her. "I'm not mad. I'm not mad about Marshall at all; you didn't do anything wrong; don't think for a second that this is your fault…" it was important to get that out of the way. "I just got upset because I don't like hearing you think of yourself as dumb _or_ clumsy, but I didn't need to shout…"

"But, I _am_ clumsy!" all the time alone that afternoon without any news had given her plenty of time to brood, it would seem, and all the insecurities Mary had never known Melissa had possessed suddenly came spilling out. "The kids at school have been trying to tell me all this time, and I never listened! I just thought I was better than them, and that's why they hate me…!"

"Hey, you listen to me…" she poked a finger into her chest, hoping the grating motion would help her take note of how serious she was. "Being confident and knowing who you are is not the same as thinking you're superior…"

"That's right, Missy…" Brandi, bleary but determined to do her part, was now standing beside them, flattening her hair in the back. "You would never tease someone the way those kids at school tease you…"

"And, I'll tell you what…" Mary was hit with a sudden inspiration, hoping her idea would settle her daughter and get her into her pajamas faster. "You can give those brats the brush off tomorrow if you want…" calling Melissa's peers names didn't win her very many points, but she was irritable and didn't need another problem to deal with. "What do you say you and I play hooky?"

But, what the woman had thought was a brilliant notion was clearly not taken the same way by the eight-year-old. Melissa suddenly opened her mouth almost comically wide, her eyes filling up the whole of her glasses, like she had never heard of something so scandalous. And, indeed, her next words proved that she and her mother were running on a different wavelength at the moment.

"I _can't_ play hooky!" it was as if she expected to be arrested. "I _have_ to go to school!"

"What…?"

"You're _truant_ if you don't go…!"

Bypassing her use of such an adult word, Mary waved a dismissive hand, "Sweets, this is different; one day off isn't going to get you in trouble with the police…"

"I don't care!" the little one was definitely adamant, but Mary had to wonder if she would feel the same way once the morning rolled around. "I'm not staying home from school! Marshall wouldn't want me to miss anything! He says that you have to learn everything you can _while_ you can, because knowledge is…"

"Knowledge is power," Brandi finished fondly, as familiar with Marshall's tried-and-true phrase as Mary was, tracing Melissa's braids lovingly. "He does say that an awful lot, doesn't he, Thumbelina?"

The aunt used this nickname sparingly, because it almost too cutesy for someone like Missy, but both mother and daughter were willing to let it slide in this instance. An odd sort of anger was percolating in Mary's gut – at whom, she wasn't entirely sure. How could she be mad at Marshall given the state he was in? He had just tried to instill in Melissa the importance of enriching your mind, and there was nothing wrong with that, even if it had led to a manic obsession with school, no matter what the circumstances, no matter how cruel the other students were.

"_And_, he told me that they want to put me in another classroom at school…" Mary's heart gave a leap, because she'd had no idea when her husband had found time to confide the details of the meeting in Melissa before the accident. "A _gifted_ classroom – and I want to go! He said I should go, and I want to do what Marshall says!"

Evidently, the theme for the night was that Marshall was God. Anything he had said, done, indicated, or implied before a truck had managed to have him teetering on the brink of death was what Melissa was going to follow. It wasn't so unusual, really; the child's loyalty had always been admirable, and in the absence of her step-father, she was going to do everything she could to uphold his wishes. Living through him and for him until he was back on his feet was probably helping to keep her terror at bay as well. Mary knew she was going to have to have someone talk to her about all she'd seen while she'd been pinned down by her roller skates, just to ensure she wasn't traumatized underneath. Perhaps Shelley Finkel could do it; there was no one else Mary would trust to the job.

But, therapy along with the gifted program was going to have to wait until they'd all had a little more rest. Laying a hand on Melissa's shoulder to stop her endless stream of ranting, Mary did what she could to appease her for the evening and also to let her know some of this was going to have to be worked out at a later date.

"We will talk more about that classroom," she promised. "It sounds like you belong there, but there are some other steps we'll have to take; I need to talk to Mark…"

"Why Mark?" Melissa interrupted.

"Never mind," Mary mumbled, not wanting to get into biological particulars. "I just want you to find out more about it before you decide to go and then, if you still want to, that's where we'll send you, all right?"

At being thwarted, Missy's lip began to quiver again, "Marshall said he wanted me to go…" she was obviously clinging to one of the man's last wishes for her, not willing to relinquish her grip. "Mom, I'm not making it up; he did say…"

"I don't think you're lying, Melissa. He does want you to, but…"

But, whatever Marshall had desired altered very quickly into what _Melissa_ desired, and it had nothing to do with teachers and signatures and schools for those with finer minds.

"I want Marshall…" exhausted and bewildered, her face fell forward into Mary's shoulder, accompanied by another waterfall of wetness. Her voice was muffled when she said it again, sounding sadder than Mary had ever heard in all her eight years of life. "I want Marshall, mama…"

"I know, sweets…"

Seeing Brandi's discouraged face did nothing to ease the inspector's pain, but she accepted her sister's hand where it was dangling at her side; Melissa was so small, it only took one of Mary's arms to hold her upright. Closing her eyes, trying not to let the sound of her daughter's tears drive her to the brink, she clutched hard and fast in Brandi's palm, knowing their need, like their grief, was one in the same.

"I want Marshall too."

XXX

**A/N: The tiredness, then the brief joy, then the worry, the anguish…ah, so many emotions all at once for our Shannon women!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So many catch-up reviews last night! I so love reading all of your thoughts!**

XXX

Surprising even herself, Mary didn't have to think twice about whether she was going to request that Brandi stay overnight on her couch. Peter had been filled in on everything that was going on, and even offered to come by himself and keep watch for the women, but his wife turned him down. No matter how often Mary disregarded it, Brandi had learned to do a few things for herself, and a part of her seemed to be enjoying playing the caretaker for once. After all, since she was going to be a mother in two weeks time, it was essential she learn those ropes at some point, even if she waited until the last possible second.

Even with a houseguest she both wanted and needed, Mary still opted to do the honors of putting Melissa to bed herself. Shut up in her bedroom, which had long since been decorated with an odd assortment of dolls, model airplanes, solar systems, and nature posters, it took Mary longer than expected to get the child into her pajamas. She kept distracting her with questions, pausing every time her mother tried to force her arm through the sleeve in her shirt. Both minds were strung out and yet neither one seemed able to shut completely down. Mary humored Melissa for as long as she could, even though she could barely hold her own head up as it was.

Finally, the eight-year-old was dressed in a pair of comfy-looking plaid pants shaded in checks of blue and yellow. They were too big for her even though they boasted elastic, and Mary had folded the waistband back twice so she wouldn't trip when she walked. On top, she wore a floppy grey T-shirt that had been borrowed from Mark; the high school he and Mary had attended decades ago was spelled across the chest. Not wanting her to wake up with a rat's nest for hair, Mary had pulled her hair out of the braids, leaving her with locks that were coiled and crimped from being wound together.

"All right…" the inspector breathed; glad they were nearly there, longing to be out of her jeans and into something more relaxing herself. "You want me to have Brandi get you some water from the kitchen, or are you good?"

"I'm good; I'm not thirsty…"

How this could be, with all the crying she'd been doing, Mary wasn't sure, but she trusted Melissa. She was kicking her feet back and forth from where she was sitting on the edge of her bed, like she was itching to go somewhere.

"And you're sure you don't want anything to eat?" Mary pressed. "Mark said you didn't have any dinner…"

Missy shook her head, "I'm not hungry."

"All right…"

"I should do the dollhouse now."

"If you want to…" Mary was a little surprised she wanted to go through this ritual without Marshall, but if the last hour had taught her anything, it was that her daughter needed to do the same things she would if he were around. "Then go ahead…"

Hopping down from the mattress, Melissa stole over to the corner of the room opposite her bed and immediately knelt down on the floor, gathering figurines and plastic people to complete the ceremony she had been engaging in since before she'd started kindergarten. Why it had grown and flourished so intensely in her heart, Mary couldn't have said for certain, but it had been Marshall who had started it, and Melissa hadn't given it up since.

For her fifth birthday, Jinx had given her granddaughter an elaborate, fold-out, three story dollhouse. It was taller than Melissa herself if she was sitting down, as she usually was whenever she played with it. Over the years, it had accumulated a number of diverse inhabitants – some tall, some short, some plastic, some cloth, some men, some women. Melissa's imagination was so vast that she could make them into anything she needed them to be, no matter how they looked. Some days they were scientists in a lab, others they were doctors in a hospital. But, it was at night that they morphed back into their true selves, and Mary tried to watch her daughter's movements with fondness, rather than a sense of monotony.

The house, fancy but plastic, could be detached in the center so one giant home really became three smaller parts. Like a pro, Melissa snapped the pieces apart, setting one against the wall next to her dresser, the other just behind her bedroom door. The remaining center piece stayed where it was. Then, like a skillful craftsman, she located the seven little figurines she used to represent the members of her family.

Mark was a squat little Fisher Price toy with brown hair and black eyes that were painted on. Melissa placed him carefully in a plastic bed in the third of the house behind her door. Next came Stan, who was made of wood and wore a baseball cap that you were unable to take off. He sat on the couch in the portion of the house next to Melissa's dresser.

Crawling on the floor now, she found the shoebox she had been forced to use once the dollhouse had grown too full. Inside it, she had an old handkerchief of Marshall's, which stood for a blanket, and a miniature table, which was really all that would fit in the confines anyway. On top of the cloth, she set down doll-Peter, but then hesitated and glanced to the Barbie in her left hand.

"Put Brandi in our living room," Mary whispered. "Since she's staying here with us, she should go there."

"But, this one's too big…"

"She'll fit," Mary assured her. "She'll just take up more room."

The middle of the house characterized Mary's and Marshall's abode, and Melissa was able to cram Barbie onto the lower floor, though it was indeed a tight squeeze. Once she had done that, she was left with only Jinx, shown by a dainty little ballerina toy that fit right in the palm of the child's hand. She was always tucked into a tiny plastic house that had once been a part of a town play set Melissa had owned as a three-year-old, though most of its parts had long since gone missing. She set the box down between Stan's quarters and the Mann-Shannons, dancer safely inside.

The second grader didn't waste time sticking Mary's doll on the top floor of their house, Barbie Brandi still down below, but didn't move when it came to the last remaining figure which, of course, was Marshall. Melissa's depiction of him was a beat-up nerd-type with drawn-on glasses, also made of plastic, but now she was looking at it like it was a foreign object, something she'd never seen in her life.

Uncertain, she glanced over her shoulder at Mary, asking for help.

"What about Marshall?" she murmured timidly.

The blonde shrugged, "Just put him in the bed with me. Where he always is."

"But, he isn't here tonight."

"Well…" Mary had been doing her best not to think about that, and didn't want to be reminded. "Where do you put him when he's away at work until early in the morning?"

"At the office…" she pointed to a fifth residence which resembled a police station; at the moment, it was shoved into the toy chest in Melissa's closet.

"Why don't you pull that out and put him in there?"

"Because he's not _at_ the office," she insisted stubbornly. "He's at the hospital."

"You can't just pretend for tonight?"

"No."

"But, you can't fool me, sweets. I know you're a good pretender…"

"I won't," she was set. "It has to be right…"

And, with Mary trying not to show that she was about to start sighing deeply in annoyance, the little one got to her feet and stuck her head in the confines of the toy box, rummaging loudly and clattering everything around searching for something suitable. Within a few minutes, her mother being as patient as her slogging brain would allow, she managed to fish out a diminutive white truck. Up close, Mary could see that it had a red cross printed on the side – not a building, but it would have to do.

Looking marginally pleased with herself, Missy carefully placed the plastic ambulance neighboring Mark's home and, since doll-Marshall wouldn't fit inside, laid him on the carpet next to it.

"There."

Mary had to hand it to her, "Very clever," she praised. "Is that everybody?"

"Mmm hmm…"

"All right. Then it's time for bed."

Dutiful, often to her detriment when you considered her struggles with her peers, Melissa left her makeshift, plastic neighborhood and pattered across the room, vaulting into bed. Mary had already pulled the covers back, revealing the white sheets printed with dinosaurs underneath. They had belonged to Marshall as a child, Mary had been told, and were growing nubby with how many times they had been washed. Still, you couldn't rival their softness, and Melissa snuggled in quickly so that only her tiny face was peeping out over the top of the blanket.

"Let's get your glasses…"

The mother carefully slipped the frames into her hand, folding them and placing them right beside the lamp on Missy's bedside table. She was extremely cautious about not moving them an inch from where they were supposed to reside, so her daughter would always know exactly where to put her hand if she needed to grab them in the night. You didn't take chances when your child's eyes were as blurry as Melissa's without her spectacles.

With a sigh, the little girl allowed the pillow to swallow her up, probably realizing for the first time how tired she was now that she was finally in bed. Tentatively, Mary ran her hand over Melissa's wavy tresses, feeling that it would seem cold to leave her all alone given the day she'd had. Normally, they went through the dollhouse custom, exchanged hugs and kisses, and that was the end of it. Once in a blue moon, Melissa would request a story, and this might be one of those nights.

Mary decided to give her a nudge, "Do you want me to stay a few minutes, sweets? I can wait until you fall asleep," she said this even though she was dying to get to bed herself.

Missy blinked her large, round green eyes – seemingly bigger and more vast than usual without the glasses to hide them. It often felt to Mary that her daughter appeared more innocent and childlike in the absence of her frames – reminiscent of the little waif she had been all those years ago in the NICU.

But, reading the woman's mind in more ways than one, she tried to save face no matter how she yearned to be taken care of.

"I'm not a baby."

"No, I know…" Mary informed her lightly, still stroking her hair. "But, you know…" she shrugged, unsure how to make Melissa understand without being explicit. "Even the bravest of us need someone to be by our side when…" a swallow. "…Something…scary happens…"

Melissa didn't look entirely convinced, and so Mary knew she was going to have to delve a little deeper – admit that she, too, spun out of control and desired companionship, far more than she used to.

"I mean, even me…" she offered her a half-smile to show she didn't intend to get dramatic. "I would've gone totally crazy today at the hospital if I hadn't had Jinx and Stan with me." Then, deciding it wouldn't hurt to be completely honest, "I kind of did anyway."

"I saw you, mom," the little one's voice was meek.

"What do you mean? When?"

"After you saw that Marshall had gotten hit. I saw you. You were crying."

While it was foolish to have expected her to miss something like that, Mary still felt a flush rise in her cheeks, and not for the first time when she reflected on the events of the day. Nonetheless, there was no changing what had already gone down, and did she really want to teach Melissa to be an emotionless stone? That wasn't Marshall's mission; she could guarantee that.

"Well, I was all over the place…" she conceded quietly, still trying to look unperturbed. "But, if I'm not mistaken, you were crying too. Am I right?"

Unlike her mother, Melissa actually _was_ composed when it came to wearing her heart on her sleeve. Growing up with Marshall, she had learned that feelings were nothing to fear.

"I was frightened."

There was that stunning vernacular, shining through. Marshall's influence seemed to be ruminating in the air this evening, even if he wasn't physically present.

"I was too, girly," the older murmured. "Everybody was. Mark, Brandi, Stan…"

"Stan too?" for the first time, she seemed surprised; apparently, the big, bad boss man forever embodied daring. "He didn't look scared…"

"Stan's pretty good at covering up," Mary would grant him that. "His job is to be tough."

Strictly speaking, that was Mary's job too, but it was different when it was your husband in jeopardy. What she would've done without Stan to pick up the slack in such a horrifying moment, she had no idea, and she made a mental note to thank him whenever she saw him next. So far, all the thanks he had received was an unwarranted thrashing for not letting her tear off to the police station.

"Listen, Melissa…" mulling over the accident once again had reminded the inspector of something else. She didn't think now was the time to push, but in the hush created by the lamp on the table and the stars twinkling outside, she thought maybe her daughter would feel like opening up. "Do you…want to tell me what happened today? I mean…before the rest of us came back outside?"

Though her question had somewhat come out of nowhere, she worked hard to keep her voice impassive, like nothing particularly important hinged on what Melissa said. She could explain to her later on how the police were going to need a full report, and she would have to be the one to give it to them, as she had been the only witness to the crash.

And, indeed, the child did seem to ponder whether she was up to the task of recounting the events; her mouth worked side-to-side in a thoughtful motion, and her eyes seemed to dart around, like they were wheels spinning in her brain. But, it was clear she sensed no expectation from her mother, because when she replied, she was truthful.

"Could I tell you tomorrow?"

Mary was instantly agreeable, "Yes. You can tell me tomorrow. Did you talk about it with Mark and Brandi?"

"No. Not really."

"Not really, huh?" she repeated. "Well, that's fine. When you're ready, we'll talk. In the meantime…"

Melissa interrupted, "Can you tell me the story before you go to bed?"

The Marshal had thought that, underneath, her daughter didn't really want to be by her lonesome, regardless of what she said about being able to look after herself. But, her abrupt switch in gears was telling. She wasn't upset, but the mention of describing everything she had surveyed had sent her running in the opposite direction. Mary knew that feeling too well not to sympathize, and took the bait she was offered without looking back.

"A story?" she wanted to know. "Or _the_ story?"

In their world, there was a distinct difference, and Melissa knew it.

"_The_ story."

Mary was not opposed to "the" story being doled out. She just wondered if she would be able to get through it without choking up. Even on her best days, it could be tough to go through, even when Marshall patiently held her hand and assured her there was no reason to feel embarrassed for harboring after-effects eight years down the road. When she thought of how she had felt sitting in Melissa's school that afternoon, she knew it was a story – an experience – that was never truly going to leave her. She just wished she could've held onto it without Marshall adding his own traumatic tale to rest beside hers just that afternoon.

"I'll tell it…" Mary said softly. "But, I want you to close your eyes, okay?"

It was no secret she wanted Missy to fall asleep before the end of the journey she was about to detail, which did sometimes happen. For some reason, though, she had doubts about whether that would occur tonight. There was a method to her choosing this narrative to hear once more and she was likely going to try extra hard to listen.

Nonetheless, she nodded at her mother's suggestion, slipping her lids shut and shifting sideways on her pillow, ready for the anecdotes that were now almost a decade in the making.

"Eight years ago, my life was very different…"

Had Melissa wanted to contribute, she would've asked, 'different how' even though she already knew.

"I lived here by myself. Jinx had her own apartment and she had just started teaching at the dance studio. Brandi lived with Peter, but they weren't even married yet. Mark was in New Jersey, where we both grew up, trying to get his solar panel business off the ground…"

On certain, more joyful evenings, the little girl would sometimes ask if they could visit New Jersey someday. While Mary tended to humor her and say, 'maybe' she was not actually a fan of the idea. There were too many bad memories there. Tonight though, she only breathed through her nose, though the inspector could tell she was listening intently.

"Eleanor hadn't come back from Chicago. Stan was just my boss and Marshall…"

Mary paused. If she closed her eyes and screwed up her concentration just enough, she could see a depiction of those days in her mind's eye. She could see the day she had met Cassidy, where they had sat in the conference room and the red head had asked her if there was a baby in her belly. And, through it all, she saw Marshall. He was the one constant during that time, but he was also the one – outside of the child lying right in front of her – that had wrought the biggest change in her since.

"Marshall was my partner."

She wanted to add something along the lines of, 'still is' but she didn't.

"Anyway…" Mary cleared her throat before going on. "I was having a bit of a time of it trying to get anything done at work because Stan was worried something might happen to me if I went out and did anything dangerous – because I was carrying you in my belly. In just eight weeks, you'd be out…"

But, both mother and daughter knew that part of the pregnancy had certainly not gone according to plan. Even so, if it had, who knew where they would be today?

"To tell you the truth, though, I was pretty annoyed with Stan for treating me like a little kid…" she saw a hint of a smile flicker on Melissa's face. "I knew how to take care of myself, and I wasn't losing much sleep over you. In fact, I thought you'd be better off with someone other than me, because I thought law enforcement was no place for a baby…"

In the beginning, it had been dicey trying to reveal to Melissa that she had once been poised not to become a Shannon, but a Templeton. At the tender age of five, she had learned as much, and while she'd seemed put-off at first, she was so bright that the more Mary explained it to her, the more it made sense. Now, at eight, she had long since accepted that her mother's brief flirtation with adoption was borne out of nerves and the desire to see to it that her child was safe from a world of guns and wayward witnesses – it had nothing to do with not being wanted.

"But, then…Stan and Marshall and I got into contact with a little girl that needed our help. She was younger than you are now, and she'd had a lot of really sad things happen to her, so it was up to us to make sure she was okay before she had to leave again…"

This sugarcoated, glossed-over version of WITSEC had never seemed to bother Melissa. She took some amount of pleasure in knowing so many people in her life had jobs so important that they couldn't be discussed. This was why, Mary guessed, that she simply listened on, and the woman had a hunch she was still awake. Before continuing, she began to idly run her fingers over her hair again, a motion that had long since become automatic when she wanted her daughter to go to sleep.

"But, unfortunately…someone who was looking for this little girl took matters into their own hands and…"

For the first time since she'd begun, Melissa spoke, "And they set my school on fire."

Jarred by the sound of her voice, Mary tried to brush over it and bobbed her head, but quickly admonished her to feign relaxation once more.

"Close your eyes…"

Sighing, Melissa did as she was told, and that left Mary free to go on.

"Yes, they set the school on fire. I was inside because Marshall had decided he would let me keep watch on our little friend. He knew how much I had missed being at work and he was trying to make me happy…"

It wasn't until Stan had pointed this out to her in the aftermath that Mary had seen the gesture for what it was. She had spent many years hoping that Marshall recognized it as well, because she knew he had felt an enormous amount of guilt for what had happened. With a pang, she wondered if it could rival the shame that she was now feeling for his terrible misfortune, occurring right in their own front yard.

Swallowing down the familiar cottony feeling in her throat now, Mary skipped the more gruesome of details, as she always did, and picked up at the portion she knew Melissa liked best.

"I was able to get that little girl out, but by the time Marshall found me, you and I weren't looking so good. He carried me out of the building and had to wake me up because I'd passed out from all the smoke I'd breathed into my lungs…"

"And, it took him a long time, right?" this time, she was careful to keep her eyes closed.

"It took him awhile," Mary admitted. "He told me later how afraid he was…"

Something about this triggered a theme with Missy, "Was he crying?"

This wasn't a road they usually veered toward, but given everything they had hashed out earlier, it wasn't so unusual for Melissa to want this facet explained. It could've been why she had wanted to hear this story in the first place – to compare it, however subconsciously, to the ordeal from that afternoon.

And, Mary had to think for a moment, because many things surrounding those first few minutes when she'd flickered back to life were hazy, at best. Melissa chanced a glance at her again when it took her some time to answer. On this occasion, Mary didn't insist she pretend to fall asleep.

"Yes…he was…" she finally recalled. "He was a mess too. I was really out-of-it, but I remember asking him…"

She hadn't, not until right now, but when she allowed herself to reminisce, the words came back as though she'd spoken them yesterday.

"'Why are you blubbering?'"

"He was crying really hard, then," Melissa knew the meaning of the word.

"Yeah…that's right…" Mary conceded. "But, he just laughed and said he was glad to see me and that was that. Stan showed up, I think, and that's when my stomach started to hurt…"

"Because I was coming."

"Because you were coming," Mary repeated. "Eight long weeks too early," she poked a finger into her tiny chest. "The organ inside me that was giving you all your nutrients…"

"My food."

"Yeah," there was no point telling her to rest now, not when she was so immersed. "Your food. It had started to come apart, and the doctor told me you wouldn't have made it inside my belly much longer…"

"So, they took me out."

"They did."

"And Marshall was there."

Their byplay came to an abrupt end at this reminder. Both Shannons stared at one another – Mary fighting an overflow of emotion, Melissa expectant for the end of a story she had heard a hundred times before. And yet, there had to be a different twist on it this evening. She was recounting Marshall's bravery, his pluck, the courage he had displayed by running face first into the flames, and the loyalty at never once leaving Mary's side. When the woman thought of him now, all by himself in the hospital, she suddenly wanted to run out of the room and sit with him whether he recognized her or not.

But, hard as it was, she knew it was essential, just now, to put her daughter to bed.

"Yes, Marshall was there," Mary whispered ethereally. "He was there when I woke up, he was there in the ambulance, he was there in the hospital, and he was there when you were born. He saw you before I did."

"What did he say about me?"

"He said you were beautiful," Mary answered truthfully.

"Not that I was really small?"

"Nope. He let the doctors take care of that."

"He was excited, right?"

"Very."

"Were you?"

Melissa had never asked her this before. Maybe she'd taken it for granted – maybe not, knowing how smart she was. Mary wondered if unvarnished honesty would bother her. Probably not, as to lie to her would only be insulting, and she would see right through it anyway.

"Well…sweets…I was not very excited at first…"

True to form, Melissa didn't react. She hung on.

"A lot happened in a really short space of time and I was just trying to figure it all out. I was tired and I didn't feel very good – they had to sew me back together after they took you out, and the stitches made my stomach really sore…" technically, they had been staples, but Mary skated over that. "I couldn't stop coughing because of all the smoke I'd taken in. Plus, nobody really told me what was going on with you; Marshall really kept his eye on you, but you were kind of a mystery until I finally got to visit you…"

That wasn't a meeting Mary especially wanted to relive, as the sight of the minuscule Melissa hooked up to a dozen wires and machines had driven the new mother into a tizzy. Fortunately, though, the second grader didn't ask about that and pressed on.

"But, what did make you excited? Eventually?"

Mary expected to have to think a lot longer when presented with such a question, but she didn't. She remembered the turning point during those long, bleak days in the hospital and, even now, they brought her some measure of comfort.

"I was…not just excited…but _thrilled_…" and she didn't use such phrases lightly. "…That there were so many people lining up to take care of you. It was like a fleet," here, Melissa actually smiled. "I mean, you know how it was for me when I was your age. My dad left and it was just me and Jinx and Brandi and it was lonely…"

It had been more than lonely, but there was no sense ruining the moment now.

"But, I knew the minute I decided to take you home that it wasn't going to be that way for you, and then I wasn't so scared anymore…" she continued. "Marshall moved in with me…"

"And became your _boyfriend…"_

"Yes…" the blonde managed a small chuckle. "Stan would watch you at night if Marshall and I had to go to work. Mark moved here from New Jersey and took you on his job with him so I didn't even have to pay a baby-sitter…" what a blessing that had been. "And there was no getting rid of Jinx and Brandi. They loved you so much; they would come over all the time and if I needed to sleep they were ready to play with you the minute I asked…"

"I wish the kids at school got that."

"Got what?" Mary asked, suddenly confused.

"That I don't need a dad when I have you and Marshall and Stan and Mark and Jinx and Brandi and Peter and Eleanor," she rattled off impressively. "If you hadn't been in the fire, it might not be that way, but I don't want it to be different…"

"Neither do I, sweets."

"I bet you thanked Marshall a lot after he saved your life and helped you so much after I was born. Didn't you?"

Cassidy's influence was still running deep in this house and Mary suddenly wished she could have one more opportunity, right now, to bestow her gratitude on a man who had gone beyond the lengths of partnership many years ago.

"I did, Melissa," she replied in response to her daughter's assumption. "I did thank him. Many-many times."

XXX

**A/N: Although it was not my intent, this chapter is a fairly good refresher for what happened in "Glowing Embers," so there's that. ;)**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Thank-you for the reviews! It is finally a new day in Mary's world! She was stuck on Wednesday for awhile LOL!**

XXX

The morning came too early for Mary who, to her great surprise, slept like a log. Evidently, she was fatigued enough that the absence of Marshall in bed beside her wasn't enough to keep her from going under. She could only hope that Melissa had achieved the same, but you'd never be able to tell it by looking at her when she stirred with the rising sun. Mary had to wonder if she'd tossed and turned all night, or else had been plagued by nightmares, but she hadn't heard a sound from her room down the hall. With Brandi in the living room, surely someone would've come to her aide if she'd cried out at any point.

True to her word, though, Melissa managed to get herself dressed, insisting all the while that she had to go to school. And go she did, wearing the same overalls she'd had on the day before, this time with a red T-shirt printed with tiny white polka dots. Mary had tried to dissuade her, tried to tell her the treasured outfit was dirty and she would be better off donning a pair of jeans. No sale. It was overalls or bust, and as Melissa was cranky and suffering from lack of sleep, her mother didn't see the point in arguing for too long.

With Brandi enlisted to drive the little girl off to the second grade – rather against the inspector's better judgment – it left Mary free to head back to the hospital before Marshall's surgery. She was dreading the day; not knowing how long the operation would take or what version of Marshall would reappear once he was brought out of anesthesia. She expected to spend the better part of the morning by herself, knowing that Stan, at least, would have to go into the office to help Eleanor with everything piling up. Everyone else, of course, had jobs to attend to as well – Mary's world might stop when it came to Marshall's misfortunate, but that didn't mean everyone's did. Even Melissa knew her duty, and was sitting in her desk with the other eight-year-olds where she claimed to belong.

The woman was nothing short of stunned, therefore, when Mark wandered into the waiting room after Mary had barely been there ten minutes. He held a white paper sack in one hand and his phone in the other, spotting his ex at once, who was bleary-eyed and completely thrown by his appearance.

"What are you doing here?" she stood up at once, ignoring his cute little wave he cast her from across the room. "You have to go to work. You told me last week that you have to start getting measurements on the roofs of those new developments out west; you said they'd take their business to somebody else if you didn't get a jump on it…"

"Would you relax?" Mark's tone was easy, holding up a hand to quiet her and cutting cleanly through her babble. "Stan called me earlier and asked if I would stop in since I guess he's pretty jammed up…"

At least Mary had been able to guess one thing right, but she still found herself mouthing soundlessly at having someone to keep her company. Mark would expect her to talk, to share what she was thinking or feeling, and there was no telling if she was up for that.

"I don't care what Stan said," she was jittery from downing two mugs of coffee, wanting to be certain she'd stay awake. "I don't need anyone to coddle me…" this definitely hadn't been true the day before, but she was bound and determined to be strong now. "If you have somewhere to be, you have somewhere to be, and there's nothing to see here anyway; not for hours…"

"You are on a roll," he remarked with a hint of a smirk. "I've never heard you so chatty."

"It…its nerves…" Mary had to admit, knowing as soon as she heard Mark's observation that she must sound stupid, talking too much and too fast.

"Yeah, I know it is," he replied smartly. "So, sit back down and don't be a hero, all right?" he indicated the couch where she'd been residing before he'd walked in. "I didn't come empty handed, beautiful. I brought you breakfast," he held up the sack he'd been toting, producing two drinks as though from nowhere.

Mary feigned being suspicious as she followed his advice and resumed her seat, narrowing her eyes at the bag, but knowing just from the smells wafting out of it that she was going to want to devour whatever was inside. Her stomach was growling already – loudly enough that Mark actually raised his eyebrows as he sat beside her, meaning she couldn't hide her rapidly mounting appetite.

"Have you eaten anything since last night?" he inquired skeptically.

"I _didn't_ eat anything last night," she corrected him. "I was busy, wasn't I? Lunch yesterday was my last meal."

"Geez, you must be starving," Mark assumed. "Going on some sort of hunger strike isn't going to help anybody…"

"That's not what I was doing…"

And, even if she'd planned on it, she wasn't going to last now. To satisfied looks from Mark, she seized the sack and stuck her nose inside, inhaling the warm breakfast fragrance of bacon, egg, and what she thought was sausages. She'd managed to get Melissa to eat something before she'd left for school, but hadn't bothered with herself.

"Chow down," Mark chortled. "Here, I got you an apple juice too…" passing the cup into her hands. "I looked for cranberry, but they didn't have any…"

"It's Melissa who likes cranberry juice, not me," the blonde reminded him around bites of hash browns, a handful of which she had taken from a pouch in the bottom of the bag. "And pineapple and even that disgusting V8 – the tomato stuff; it makes me gag…"

The man laughed again, clearly not buying that Mary found her daughter's diverse tastes exasperating. Whatever her reservations about Melissa's quirks, he knew as well as anyone that she wouldn't have her any other way. You couldn't expect someone like her to have an ordinary child.

"Speaking of Missy…" he also saw his opening and ran with it, Mary eating with almost indecent fervor beside him. "Was she okay last night after I left? She was beat; I hope she slept for you."

The inspector hunched her shoulders indifferently and swallowed, "As well as can be expected, I guess," she conceded. "She was pretty hyper when I first got there, but once I put her to bed she settled down. Brandi slept on the couch, so I had back-up…"

"Good," Mark sounded relieved. "I wouldn't blame you if you had trouble getting her to chill out. I had a time of it myself – one minute she seemed fine, but the next something would set her off again…"

"Yeah, well…" she grumbled, this time with her mouth full, which muddled her speech. "I don't imagine seeing Marshall plowed into the ground is something she'll forget very quickly."

They had reached the elephant in the room in no time at all, Mark clamming up in the presence of Mary's awkward comment. He allowed her to chew her breakfast for a moment, which happened to be an enormous biscuit, some of the contents spilling out onto her lap. For something to do, she rustled in the sack for a napkin, but she could still see out of the corner of her eye that Mark was fighting the urge to discuss the man who was confined to the operating room right now. Regardless of how Melissa was feeling, it seemed that Mary had reached an even-keel, and he didn't want to disturb it.

But, his staring was starting to irritate her, and she stuffed another tater-tot mulishly into her mouth.

"Ask me. I know you want to."

Mark didn't hesitate once he'd been given permission, "How…how is Marshall?" but he had the grace to sound cautious. "Did you see him…before they wheeled him back?" he wondered. "I figured he must be doing all right, especially if they're going ahead with the surgery on his leg…"

Again, Mary had to gulp down a large mouthful of food before responding. It also gave her time to ponder rational-sounding answers before blurting anything out and sounding as anxious as she felt.

"I saw him, but he was already asleep so…it was more like talking to a rock, if you want to know the truth…"

"That must've been disappointing."

"I guess," Mary grumped, wishing she could be more upbeat without having to expend such a sizeable amount of effort. "But, if he was anything like he was last night, then I imagine I didn't miss much."

"Well, maybe once he comes through the operation he'll be more himself. Did they say how long it would take?"

"Awhile," she sighed. "Most of the morning. So, like I said, if you need to get to work…"

"I have time," Mark reiterated gently. "There are things that are more important than solar panels…"

"You mean, everything?" she managed a joke, and he chortled appreciatively.

"Yeah, a lot of things seem pretty…irrelevant, I guess, after yesterday. It reminds you what really matters…"

"You better call the PSA department," Mary replied in response to his cheesy line. "You could be in one of those 'The More You Know' ads with the shooting stars…"

"Nice to see your sense of humor is still intact."

"Mmm hmm…" but, she was biting her nail so obsessively and zealously that she was soon likely to break the skin. "I'm a riot and a half."

But, the truth behind this statement was really very small, and it was nice of Mark to pretend that she was so much like her old self. Judging by her actions, he could see she wasn't in much of a mood to talk about Marshall or, indeed, anything that had happened the day before. It was going to be a long day no matter how he tried to engage, especially considering she had all-but demolished her meal in less than five minutes. Being both extra-hungry and edgy had-had her binging like a tiger.

When she saw him looking at the remnants of her breakfast, she had a sudden thought, and though it was too late to do anything about it now, she wanted to show she could still be considerate when she wanted.

"Was some of this for you?" Mary eyed the empty wrappers. "I have a few hash browns left if you want some…"

But, Mark held up a casual hand and shook his head, "I ate in the car on the way over," he informed her. "No worries."

This was followed by a nod and another long exhale, the woman tossing all her trash onto the table in front of them, too lazy to get up and find a trashcan. Mark seemed lost for how to proceed and was wringing his hands absently, just short of twiddling his thumbs. If Mary didn't want the silence to overtake them, she was going to have to get the ball rolling. For as much as she loved Mark, he was no Marshall when it came to filling long periods of quiet.

"I hate hospitals," she droned lamely. "Too many trips with Jinx when I was a kid…all sloshed and shrieking for something to stop her headache…"

"As far as I know, hospitals don't prompt especially happy memories for anyone," Mark countered. "Short of broads having kids, they're pretty depressing, and even you didn't get the conventional experience where Missy Jean is concerned…"

"Tell me about it," a grunt. "I was just talking to her about that last night."

"How come?"

"Oh, she likes picturing Marshall as some kind of action hero," she waved a dismissive hand. "Rescuing the damsel in distress and the heir to the throne," the 'heir' being Melissa.

"It was unique, you can't deny…"

"Yeah…" she ran a hand up and down her jeans, picking at a stray thread near her knee. "Talking about it yesterday, though…I'd forgotten just how shitty I felt after she was born…" and the emergency ward only recalled her to the sensation. "I mean, usually I don't focus on that, but she was asking these questions last night that reminded me…"

Mark was patient, letting her tell her story, unembellished and without all the bells and whistles that she typically created for Melissa.

"I hacked so much I felt like my lungs were going to disintegrate. And they put me on this medication that did something to my uterus; I don't even remember now…" it was too foggy. "Jesus, I thought I was going to die; it hurt so bad…" she shook her head as though warding off a fly. "I mean, you showed up on the tail-end of things, so you missed all the gory stuff…"

"Lucky me," he chimed in.

"Yeah…right…"

"But, you both survived," he pointed out. "You're here to tell the tale. And, look at Missy. Would you have ever guessed when she was just that little urchin that she'd grow up to have a brain like she does? It's insane…"

Mary had to laugh at his use of the word 'urchin' because it was so like him to be that blunt, but this was quickly pushed aside to make room for his mention of the little girl's astounding intelligence. She still had not discussed with Mark what had gone down in the meeting at the elementary school, not that she'd had time. Melissa had been almost hysterically adamant about going into the gifted program, and if they were going to put her there, she was going to have to have Mark sign off.

Not knowing what else they were going to find to talk about on this early Thursday morning, she decided now was as good a time as any.

"Too bad you weren't around to witness the big showdown at the school yesterday," she groused, the mere memory of it making her gnash her teeth. "You'd have gotten to hear about how it doesn't matter how smart Melissa is; if she's tripping and falling on her face all the time then intellect might as well go by the wayside."

Mark didn't say anything at first; looking as though he wasn't quite sure whether he should believe Mary's account of the events. She was known for exaggerating when she wanted to, and her current predicament meant she was going to cast as much blame around as humanly possible.

"Someone said that?" Mark prodded. "Those words?"

"I don't have a photographic memory, dingus," Mary sniped. "But, it's close enough. They don't give a damn if the kids are making fun of her because, as far as they're concerned, she's bringing it on herself by being so klutzy…" The minute this was out of her mouth, she regretted it, because she suddenly remembered how Melissa had described herself the night before, and she didn't need her mother adding fuel to those notions. "Uncoordinated. Uncoordinated; you know what I mean."

"Well, but…wait a minute…" the man still looked like he didn't think this was adding up. "Who is 'they?'" he wanted to know. "I met her teacher when she first started school, a couple months ago…"

"Yeah, so?"

"She was a young thing, wasn't she? Foxy…"

"I don't see what that has to do with it," Mary snapped at him, annoyed with his juvenility.

"Well, looks aside…" she distinctly saw him grin, even though she was still scowling. "She didn't seem the type to just stand by while a kid like Missy gets the pulp beat out of her."

Mary wouldn't have pegged Mark for being so perceptive after just one meeting with Miss Newman, and the fact that he was calling her on her overstatements was obnoxious. Nonetheless, she was glad that Courtney could be counted upon to do right by her daughter if they had issues down the road.

"Maybe not _her_," she eventually admitted grudgingly. "But, this principal…" she let out a low whistle. "What a trip she was. She gave me hell from the start – how I'm letting Melissa 'suffer' because I haven't done anything about her balance being lopsided…"

"Well, she can shut it."

This made Mary laugh for real, spontaneous and glorious as it was. It also felt stark and somewhat inappropriate; the joy from it was sapped as soon as it came on. For her to be sitting here cracking up, however briefly, when Marshall's life had so recently hung in the balance, was obscene. But, that was the thing about Mark. Mary wouldn't trade Marshall for anything in the world, but her ex-husband was prone to uttering things that her current husband never would.

"What does she know, anyway?" she didn't expect Mark to keep ranting either. "Missy Jean is none of her business. Is she letting the other kids have a pass on taunting her – is that what you're saying?"

"It sounded that way to me, but fortunately that Miss Newman actually has her head screwed on is still trying to do something about it," Mary conceded. "But, she also thought that…maybe…"

It was hard to say why she took pause. There was no reason to think Mark wouldn't be completely on board with moving Melissa up a few levels. But, every time Mary thought about it, she got a knot in her stomach – a knot there was no explanation for. She should want her daughter to have the best educational experience possible; she needed a place where she could flourish and come into her own without the burden of her immature classmates dragging her down. But, as everyone around Mary knew, one of her greatest fears was that Melissa would stick out like a sore thumb. Having no father had already set her apart, and this would just push her further and further out of what children considered an acceptable social circle.

But, Mark was getting impatient and hastened to hurry her along.

"She thought what?"

Mary sighed loudly, "She wants to put her in some class with the other bookworms and future scholars," the disdain was unnecessary, and she wished she hadn't made the prospect sound so awful.

"What, all day?" Mark goaded. "Why don't they just send her to third grade if they're going to do that?"

"Because her teacher doesn't think it's a good idea and neither do I," the blonde said at once. "She needs to be with kids her own age, no matter what kind of holy terrors they are."

"Then, what is this?" he wanted clarified. "How's it different from just moving up a grade?"

"I don't know, exactly," Mary disclosed. "I guess I'll find out down the road, but Miss Newman said it's just for a couple hours during the day; some gifted teacher will map something out that's suited to Melissa and she'll get to interact with kids on her level – some older, some younger too, I suppose…"

"So, what did you and Marshall decide?"

For some reason, this view startled Mary. Marshall was her spouse, yes, and they had made many a choice about Melissa's future as the years had gone on, but never without talking it over with Mark. Mary hadn't forgotten, nor did she discount, who he really was underneath. There would be no Melissa without him.

"Well…nothing, yet," she recovered herself enough to notify him. "I wanted to see what you thought first. In fact, I _have_ to see what you think. They won't let her go unless both guardians sign the forms…"

"It's not like you and Marshall couldn't do that…"

"Not at this school, we can't," Mary enlightened him grimly. "This principal – Regina Hodges – she's like some broad out of the dark ages. One mom, one dad; end of story. She actually sat there in front of Marshall and acted like he was nothing to Melissa just because they don't share something as inconsequential as DNA…"

The tears came so fast that Mary surprised even herself. She hadn't been feeling that upset – all of her efforts were concentrated on rage toward Mrs. Hodges, who had made things far more difficult than they had to be for her little girl. And, instead, she was sitting here blubbering like a baby, with no idea where the flood of emotion had come from, clapping a hand to her mouth to stop a sniveling sob from escaping.

She didn't even know what she was crying _for_ and, oddly enough, Mark seemed to figure it out before she did.

"Hey…hey…" his voice was sweet and he put his arm around her, willing to concede that the combination of the accident and the conference at the elementary had caused a valve to burst somewhere. "Come on…" Mary swiped at her eyes even as he attempted to comfort her. "You can't let some old hag knock you down…"

She didn't even find it in her to giggle, but tried to illuminate where she was coming from, even though she scarcely understood it herself.

"Marshall…" she hiccupped without meaning to. "He adores her; she's everything to him…"

"To all of us."

"That someone could try to take that from him for no reason…"

"She doesn't understand, Mare. She's close-minded," Mark chalked it up to that, still rubbing her arm. "You and me and Stan and Marshall…we've been in this together from the very beginning. It's three dads or no dads; this principal isn't going to change that."

"It might not be her that changes it…"

The real source of her sudden misery was about to be revealed; what had been masquerading as anger was nothing more than unbridled angst. Mary wasn't a person who exposed her scars very freely, but lately, she had fear oozing out from all sides; so strong, it was unable to be kept at bay.

"If Marshall doesn't snap out of this, three dads are going to become two…"

"No-no-no…" Mark cut her off tenderly. "He's gonna be fine; it's just a broken leg now…"

"There was something else wrong with him; the way he looked at me…it wasn't right…"

"You're expecting too much; that's easy to do…" Mark declared. "Patience will pay off in the end…"

"Patience isn't really my forte, Mark."

"Heh…" he grunted with a smile. "When you start using words like 'forte' I know that Marshall has rubbed off on you. He's here whether he's _here_ or not. In you…in Melissa…"

"You know, most guys wouldn't be so accepting with another man dominating their kid's life," this was supposed to be a compliment, but the sagging quality of her voice might've indicated otherwise. "It's almost _too_ modern of you…"

"Come on, you know I think Marshall is aces," and even though he wouldn't have said anything to the contrary in this moment, Mary knew he was sincere, and immediately resolved to quit sobbing all over him. "He's more than just this guy that lives with Missy; he's a friend…"

"Yeah, you know…" a sniffle, the first act to getting herself under control. "Before Melissa, I never really knew how nice it was to have friends."

Mark couldn't suppress a bemused chuckle, "What do you mean?" and he halted his caressing of her arm to shoot her a perplexed look.

Mary supposed her truthful answer would seem strange to most people, but anybody who had known her long enough knew that her ability for forging relationships was not very honed. But, until her daughter had come along, Mark had been fairly out of the picture, and so he wouldn't have been around to watch the way she isolated herself. She'd been different as a teenager – much more openly vulnerable, and that was probably why Mark didn't find it very peculiar that she burst into tears at inopportune moments.

"Marshall was my _only_ friend for years; I'm not kidding…"

"What about Stan?"

"Stan was my boss," she had just told Melissa as much last night. "I never thought of him as a friend. And, I didn't want to either. My father screwed me over so badly that I wasn't going to risk letting anyone else in. But, I didn't want Melissa to grow up learning to shut herself away like I did…" a shrug, the last of the wetness soaking into her cheeks. "When you said you'd come and help me out with her, I never expected to be so relieved, but I was. I don't know if that was a sign that I was finally ready to start trusting people again or what…"

"Well, if Marshall were here…" Mark was pressing his luck even entertaining the idea, but Mary let him get away with it. "…I'm pretty sure he'd say it was – a sign, I mean," he clarified.

"Nah…" she wagged her head, not one to start believing in unspoken signals no matter how strong they might be. "He'd say it was something way more scientific – the position of the planets and stars aligning or something."

Her ex chortled again, looking pleased that she was no longer coming undone.

"That sounds more like astrology or astronomy…" he observed. "I forget which is which."

"Melissa could probably tell you."

"Yep…she probably could."

They had reminisced on the child's cleverness too often for it to carry them very far, and Mary was finding herself mesmerized by Mark's ever-present, sunny smile. What must it be like to possess that level of positivity without even trying? Mark had it, Brandi had it, and Marshall certainly had it. By some miracle, even Melissa seemed to carry it around with her – the belief that the world only kept spinning because there were still good, moral individuals walking the surface, leaving their mark for the generations of the future. Mary wished, just once, she could hoard that kind of faith in others.

Perhaps he could tell from her dismal features what she was thinking, or else he'd just learned how to read her thoughts after so many years, but Mark blinked almost shyly at her, wavering with whether or not to say what was going through his mind.

"You know, gorgeous…" there was that flattering nickname again; most women's husbands would be the one to call them that, but Mary had always been unconventional. "I know everyone around here likes to wax poetic about how Missy Jean got her super brain from Marshall, but don't go thinking you're any slouch in the smarts department…"

The scoff escaped before she could stop herself, but Mark wasn't through.

"You are one sharp gal, but being book-smart isn't everything…"

"You don't say?" her usual sarcasm dripped from every letter.

"Missy doesn't need the world wrapped in plastic. She's just as lucky to have a realist like you running around as she is to have the rest of our phony smiles flashing at her twenty-four-seven."

The image this created made Mary laugh through the few tears still sparkling in the corners of her eyes. She knew as well as Mark did that nobody in the little girl's life was beaming sunshine and rainbows all the time, but that he was referring to the events as of late. They all wanted to assure her it would come up roses in the end, whereas Mary was much more willing to voice the grittier aspects. And according to him, that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Whatever you settle on as far as this genius class is concerned…" he gave a blasé, but not entirely carefree shrug. "Your judgment is as good as anyone's. You know better than all of us what's best for our girl."

She cherished, deeply cherished, the way he referred to Melissa simply as 'our girl' and not as 'our kid' or 'our daughter' or 'our child.' Their hodge-podge family had blended seamlessly as time had elapsed, and Mary just hoped it wasn't about to crumble because of one afternoon playing too far out in the street.

"I used to love making my own choices…" she murmured, which shouldn't come as a surprise to anyone. "But, now it's like I don't know how – not if Marshall's not showing me the way. I used to be the most independent person there was, and now…" There was no better way to say it, "I'm needy as hell."

Funnily enough, Mark shot her a shrewd smile upon hearing this, as though he knew something she didn't. And, for a man who was without girlfriend, who lived his life on the coattails of his ex-wife, being the quarter of a parent to one remarkable little girl, there were still occasions when he had more knowledge of true devotion than Mary did.

He squeezed her shoulder and smirked one more time.

"I don't think they call it 'needy' when it's something like you and Marshall have," he stated plainly. "I think they just call it love."

XXX

**A/N: I wish there weren't so many chapters that are Marshall-less, but with him being the one who is injured it pretty much has to be written from Mary's perspective (but, of course, I tend to write from her point of view anyway!)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: I saw that I had two new reviews last night (and I thank-you for them!) and while I could read them in my e-mail, they don't seem to be showing up on the site! Bummer! The help forum tells me it is a glitch, but I sure hope it fixes itself soon – mostly because I really want to know what everyone thinks of this all-important chapter!**

XXX

It was past lunchtime once Doctor Warren emerged from the operating room to inform Mary and Mark that Marshall had survived his surgery with flying colors. The next step was simply watching him for signs of a decline, as there was nothing else they could at this point. His ankle was wrapped, his leg was in a cast, and his lung lacerations could only start to mend. As the physician had said the night before, it was really the number and combination of injuries, rather than the severity, that was going to have him tethered to the ICU for awhile. Barring disaster, though, he seemed to be on a slow path to recuperation.

For as overjoyed as she was that Marshall had pulled through the first hurdle, Mary managed to restrain herself in a way she hadn't the previous day. Although Doctor Warren said she could go and sit with him while he came out of anesthesia, she didn't take him up on the offer right away. She couldn't forget how obscure her husband had seemed the last time she'd visited him, nor Mark's theory that she was expecting too much. It would be safer – and a better experience – to wait until he was lucid, even though it killed her to be apart from him.

But, when a nurse informed her about an hour after Marshall's surgery had concluded that he was asking for her, she couldn't hold back any longer. If he wanted her there, she wasn't going to sit around. She'd been losing her mind trying to be tolerant, especially since she was by herself, Mark having returned to work. Patience only took her so far in situations like these, and she followed the nurse back to the room with almost offensive enthusiasm, her brain chiding her to calm down and be reasonable all the while.

And yet, Mary knew the second she walked through the door that the Marshall in the bed was much closer to his original self than he had been at any point yesterday. Mentally, she congratulated herself for having waited to see him, because it had definitely paid off. He still looked sleepy, his eyes bleary and his pallor gaunt, but when she appeared he shot her a weak, wonderful smile, and she was surprised her knees didn't buckle at the sight.

"I was wondering when I'd see you…" Marshall's voice was raspy and he coughed upon trying to use it, but this didn't stop him. "_Someone_ is going to have to poke fun at my battle scars; say I look like an ogre…"

"Maybe just a gladiator," Mary picked up the thread, her own grin trembling at how normally he was behaving, tired as he might be. "Although, you didn't battle with the Romans, just a car."

He nodded slowly, "Good to see I've taught you a thing or two about history."

"Too bad you weren't around when I was in high school; you could've been the nerd I cheated off of to save myself the studying."

This earned her a wan smirk as he closed his eyes against the bright lights, "For shame," he breathed, but the look on his face indicated he couldn't have been more besotted with her if he'd tried.

The rapport was lighthearted and fun to fall into; Mary felt her heart growing wings and it might soon soar clean out of the window. And yet, it was still hard to pretend that something so horrendous hadn't happened and she bit on her lip as she ventured closer to the bed. She wanted desperately to touch him, to hold him, but was afraid she might hurt him. He still looked so fragile, his face heavily scratched and bruised.

"How's your leg?" she stopped just sort of flinging herself on him, standing directly above his dewy-eyed stare.

"Not bad…" he groaned, although a hand went to his chest where he rubbed gently, obviously feeling the effect of having his lungs sliced up. "I don't expect it to last, though; once the meds wear off I think I'll be in pretty deep…"

"What about your ankle?"

"Well, I don't think I'm going to try walking anytime soon…"

"They told me it was a really bad sprain – that maybe your ligaments had already taken a beating before your tibia was broken. I don't know what that's about, and Melissa hasn't told me exactly what happened yet, but once she sees that you're okay I'm sure she'll talk."

Mary knew that she was speaking too speedily again, much as she had with Mark when he'd thrown her for a loop by showing up. And yet, her gibbering wasn't what she focused on for long. At the mention of his wounds, Marshall's face took on a clouded, mystified quality. His eyebrows met in the middle, eyes darting side-to-side before they closed again, as if even the act of thinking was taking it out of him. Suddenly, Mary couldn't help wondering if the thought of the accident distressed him – if it might even haunt him. She thought of her PTSD days after she'd been abducted and hoped fervently that Marshall wasn't going to go through the same thing.

"Did…are you okay?" she changed her question halfway through, wanting to get to the root of his feelings, knowing he would've done the same for her. "You look…I don't know…"

To say outright that he appeared confused might be insulting, and so Mary waited for him to deliver the conclusion, which he did, although still with that politely puzzled look on his face.

"No, I just…" his head shook side-to-side on the pillow, and the movement caused him to cough again.

Mary's hand automatically jumped to his hair, where she rumpled it playfully, "Don't overdo it," she cautioned. "Take it easy…"

But, her gesture or her words or both only heightened the stupefaction inside his bruised and beaten features. His bright blue eyes, seconds before skirting left-to-right just trying to get a handle on things, had suddenly flew up to stare directly at Mary. Immediately, she stopped scratching his scalp with her nails, wondering if she was irritating him.

"If…if you want me to quit, I will…"

"No, I mean…" he was almost too quick to refute her. "It…it's nice, I just…"

Again, the correct phrase seemed to fail him, and he continued to ogle her as she rubbed his droopy locks. Something about this was making Mary uneasy. Although infinitely more alert than he'd been last night, the disorientation he had displayed seemed to be returning. All of a sudden, she wished they could go back to teasing. That was safe; it didn't require so much intimacy or emotion.

But, in spite of her desires, she found herself unable to let it go, because his bewilderment was too strong to be ignored.

"Do you need something?" it was the best way she could think of to get the ball rolling without saying, point blank, that he appeared lost. "Are you in pain? You seem…kind of…well…" apparently, there _was_ no good way to vocalize her concerns without being honest. "…I don't know. Mixed-up."

Contrary to Mary's beliefs that she might affront him, he seemed comforted to have been given the opportunity to come clean and didn't hesitate for a second.

"You just…you mentioned Melissa…"

"Right. And she's fine – she's okay. She's at school," the last thing she wanted was for him to fret over the child.

"Well, I'm glad…it's just…" he sighed and shut his eyes another time, and Mary's hand roved from his head to his shoulder and squeezed lightly. "…I guess…I'm having some trouble remembering what happened."

A wave of relief broke over Mary as powerful as the ocean tide. So that was it. That was why he looked like he didn't know which end was up. His memory of the accident had failed him. She knew that feeling too well from when she'd been shot not to realize how frustrating it was. So liberated she was by having figured out the mystery of his bewilderment that she laughed lightly, which was probably unwise, but fortunately Marshall didn't look as though it troubled him.

"It's okay…" she pledged easily. "It'll start to come back. And, if it doesn't, it isn't the sort of thing you want to remember anyway, is it?"

"Well…" Marshall didn't seem as consoled as Mary had hoped he might, but that was to be expected. "I mean, I wouldn't mind retaining a few details. My mind is a blank…"

"For the first time in your life," his wife felt confident in joking. "Don't sweat it, all right?" but, she altered her voice to sound more understanding, not wanting to trivialize his issues if they were important to him. "I guess…I mean, didn't someone give you a heads up on why you're in here, or did they just leave you to figure it out yourself?"

She hoped that wasn't the case, even as she gave his cheek a quick peck and migrated toward the end of the bed, the better not to suffocate him. It was so good to see him awake and functioning that she couldn't care less if his brain was a little behind, but when she took a seat on the edge of the mattress, careful not to disturb his bandaged leg, she noticed that he was giving her his most dizzying look yet. His fingers were touching the spot where she had kissed him as though he'd never felt anything like it before. There was a dazed, almost glassy-eyed stare on him and he couldn't take his eyes off her from where she perched beside his mangled limbs.

Unsure what this was about, but willing to feel flattered that her smooches could produce such a reaction, Mary smiled. The man only gazed in return.

"So…you were going to tell me if anyone filled you in at all," she reminded him awkwardly, her grin now turning to shaky laughter. "If you don't want to talk about it right now, I understand."

"No, I mean…" he shook his head, like he was trying to snap out of it. "They…that doctor…"

"Doctor Warren."

"Yes. He said I was hit by a car."

"Yeah, you were," Mary recapped softly, some of her elation evaporating. "Head-on. It wasn't pretty."

"So…so I've heard…"

"But…Stan's taking care of the guy behind the wheel. It sounds like it was an accident…"

"Yeah, you mentioned that last night," it was a little surprising that he had retained that little facet, considering how confounded he'd been after his sedation, but Mary was impressed nonetheless. "So, I guess Stan has things at the office pretty much covered, what with me out of commission for awhile…"

"Don't even have that on your radar," Mary spoke threateningly, not liking the idea of him anywhere near danger after such a close call, and that included his Marshal duties. "Seriously. Work is taken care of. Home is taken care of…"

"Uh…home?" he stammered doubtfully, losing his thread another time.

"Yes," the woman was game for bypassing his misgivings this time because she was so intent on him knowing that he didn't need to push himself to get back too quickly. "I have Mark and Jinx and Brandi to pitch in – they're at our beck-and-call until you're back on your feet. You getting better is all anybody cares about…"

"They said that, huh?" his flesh pinked just slightly in its paleness at the thought of everyone doting on him.

"More or less," Mary shrugged. "They've all been here, by the way – well, except Melissa. But, Stan was here yesterday and so was mom; they send their best…"

"And Abigail too, I guess?"

The name was so interfering, so jarring, that Mary almost fell off the bed. Indeed, she had to throw a hand to the covers to keep herself from slipping down and onto the floor. She didn't spare a second to mull over the possibility that she might've misheard Marshall, because she'd been so centered on him, so fixated on giving him her undivided attention, that she knew she couldn't possibly have mistaken his words for anything else.

And so, this left her to stare at him, not unlike the way he'd been gawking at her for the past five minutes as though she were something foreign he didn't even recognize. A cold, prickly feeling was stealing over her skin and into her bones, making her feel sick. How or why she knew that the outcome from this seemingly innocent question was not going to be favorable, she could not have said for sure. But, a nasty, ominous sensation in her gut was scaring her so badly that it took all her strength to question him further. He looked so casual, so naïve, and that was what terrified Mary most of all.

"Abigail?" the blonde's voice came out loud, almost accusatory, and it seemed to echo on the walls surrounding them.

Marshall barely blinked, "Yeah. Hasn't she been by?"

Mary's knuckles were gripping the blankets, turning her fingers white as she battled fiercely to stay calm.

"Abigail's in Texas," this time, her voice came out quavering with disbelief, all volume vanished.

Now Marshall frowned, "What…on…on vacation or something? Didn't someone tell her what happened?"

Mary was beginning to feel lightheaded. The longer they talked, the worse this got. Nothing he was saying added up and he, too, seemed to be realizing that something was off. Mary was supposed to be the balanced one, the one who had not been slammed to the pavement, and yet she had never felt more directionless in her life.

"Why would you want Abigail to know what happened?"

Marshall, with his furrowed brow, seemed to have only one logical response – it was a response that floored Mary, and yet he seemed to think it was perfectly commonplace.

"Because…she's my girlfriend."

Rapid, unsteady breaths began to issue from Mary's mouth so quickly that it was a wonder she didn't hyperventilate in a matter of seconds. A bundle of emotions was churning inside her, so discombobulated and chaotic that she couldn't pin down which was strongest. Something was wrong. Something was horribly, frightfully wrong, and it was obvious Marshall didn't even realize it.

"Marshall, she's not your girlfriend…!" Mary's timbre was rising again, becoming hysterical. "You're married!"

His shock materialized quickly and his eyebrows flew up.

"To Abigail?"

"To _me!"_ in spite of knowing how unfair it was to shout at him, she couldn't help herself. "You're…you're married to me – you and Abigail broke up. You broke up…eight years ago…"

"_What?" _now he was the one who looked scared, and Mary longed to comfort him, when at the same time she needed someone to soothe _her_, because she was seconds away from flying into a fit. "We are not married! You're joking!"

"Of course I'm not joking!" leaping up from the bed, she shot him the most blazing look she possessed, as if she could propel him, by sheer force of will, into giving up this charade. "Don't…don't you…?"

But, the only word that would fit was the one that so obviously didn't line up, and it trailed weakly from Mary's mouth even though she knew it was to no avail.

"Don't you remember?"

But, it was clear from his shell-shocked face, not to mention his asking for his ex-girlfriend, that he did not. Mary didn't know where to go from here or how much to assume about his addled brain. Was Marshall thinking he and Abigail were still together some sort of temporary lapse? With Mary's reminder, would the light dawn and he'd be able to dictate dozens of happy times from their married life for them to relive? How far did this stretch? What else didn't he remember? And, how long was it going to last?

"I…I…I don't understand…" Marshall suddenly babbled, shaking his head wildly as if that would knock the correct pieces back into place. "I…I…I was in an accident…"

"Yes, you were in an accident," Mary seized the opportunity for solid ground, just barely stopping herself from lunging forward and shaking some sense into him. "You were hit by a car right in front of our house…"

"Our house…" he repeated, mystified. "You mean…your house?"

"Well, it was mine before we were married, but we live there together now…" this was turning very surreal very fast, and there was a stiff, clogged feeling in her throat that said tears weren't far away.

"I…I don't understand…" he said again, struggling for some sort of clarity, anything he could grab onto. "If…if I…what was I doing in the street?" he demanded. "To get hit as a pedestrian? In _your_ neighborhood? What on earth was a witness doing in front of your house?"

"A witness?!" Mary squawked, more panicky than ever, wondering what he was recounting, what small snippets of recollections he was haphazardly piecing together. "What witness?! Where are you getting this…?"

"Well, when I couldn't remember what happened I tried to put it together!" he was yelling now too, his voice shrill and paper-thin from having been strangled with coughs. "I…I just assumed I must've gotten hurt doing something with a witness and you said something about someone named Melissa…!"

Mary was terrified to ask, and yet knew she had to.

"And…and who did you think Melissa was?"

"I…I didn't know…" he sounded ashamed, embarrassed. "You said a name…I guessed it was a witness."

"You thought Melissa was a witness?" Mary's voice had changed too, lean and with a mounting tremor.

"She's not?"

It seemed impossible to get the words out. She'd thought the nightmare was over. She'd seen her husband, propped up in his bed – frail, feeble, pale, but relatively sound. She was sure they'd been ready to climb the next hill, however slowly. It had been clear they were going to make it. And now they were further back than they'd been to begin with. Near as Mary could tell, Marshall had lost an indistinct number of years off his life. He was living more than eight years previously, his memory shattered from the force of a roaring pick-up truck.

"If…if Melissa's not a witness, who is she?" he persisted when Mary just stared and she bit hard on her tongue to keep from crying.

"Melissa…" she spoke barely louder than a whisper to avoid losing her marbles completely. And then, "Melissa's…my daughter."

If Marshall had been bowled over a few seconds earlier, it was nothing to how he looked now. Mary would've loved to believe that this was all some cruel joke, or else a bad dream, that any second she was going to wake up. But, the Marshall she knew – unwell, battered, or not – would never pretend about something like this. His sense of humor did not sway in this direction – hers didn't either, regardless of how sarcastic she could be. There was nothing funny about this.

And, no matter how ferociously she was aware that he was not playing games, the shoots of denial that still ran deep in Mary's veins reared their ugly heads.

"Marsh…Marshall…" her timbre trilled like she was a sparrow, so absurdly high-pitched. She found herself skittering over to him, fingers trembling with the need to touch him, to force him to see reason even if there was nothing she could do. "Come…come on…"

But, it was plain he was still trying to deal with the blow of Mary having a child, let alone one that he had helped to raise.

"Please…"

It was disgusting, the way she was begging – it wasn't his fault he couldn't recall, if that was indeed what was happening. No amount of tears or bedlam would change that, and still she pleaded.

"You…you were there when she was born…"

It was a story she had told just last night. All at once, it was like Mary had imagined the entire ordeal – the flames, the ambulance, the hospital…

"You can't have forgotten that…she was early…you pulled me out of the fire at the grade school…"

She never thought she'd tell it this way, and especially not with Marshall shaking his head uncomprehendingly.

"And…and I had a C-section…she was barely three pounds…you named her…"

It was apparent she needed to shut up, because having overlooked something so monumental was upsetting Marshall. It was entirely possible that any second he might start choking up, but a switch had flipped in Mary's brain and she just couldn't stop.

"You called her Little Missy when she was in the NICU and that's why we named her Melissa – you still call her that and Mark calls her Missy Jean and Stan calls her Captain. She's eight…she's eight years old; she's in the second grade. She's blonde, she has green eyes and glasses and she likes to wear overalls and she's brilliant…she's brilliant just like you…!"

It was as if she expected him to suddenly jump up, have some kind of epiphany, that if she beat him over the head with almost a decade's worth of information that he would shout, 'eureka' and have done with it. And still, Mary knew how utterly foolishly she was behaving, especially since her last sequence of prattling had brought her inches from Marshall's inner circle, crowding him, inside his bubble…

"You have to remember…you have to remember _something!"_

The harshness finally made him speak, and Mary instantly regretted that she was hollering at him when he was in such a poor state, but her heart was pounding so sadistically she seemed to have lost control.

"They…they didn't even say that I hit my head…!" this was obviously priority one, and Mary recalled Doctor Warren saying the previous evening that they had run CT scans, but they didn't have results yet. "Did I? Did I hit my head? I don't…I don't get it…I know who _you_ are…"

Thank God for that.

"Is…is Melissa…?" here, he threw up his hands, physically and mentally grasping at straws. "…Is she the baby…the baby you were pregnant with…?"

Mary's mind kicked into overdrive, desperately trying to find a point of reference, and she was lucky she did.

"After Brandi got engaged to Peter!" she burst, nearly spitting on him she was so close.

"Yeah…yes…!"

"Yes!" Mary exclaimed. "Yes, that's her!"

"But…but I thought…" she could see him swallow, and his skin was so waxy that she could easily glimpse the lump going down his throat. "I…I mean…until I saw you…here…today…"

Mary's insides were crawling with impatience, but if she didn't let him finish, they would never get anywhere.

"…I…when I asked you yesterday if you were okay…"

"Right…"

"I thought we'd been in some sort of snafu with a witness…" he'd already gone over that, and Mary had to criticize herself, once again, to wait this out. "I had no idea…nobody told me, I just guessed…"

"It was a good guess…" she encouraged.

"I…I was worried you were hurt because…" he looked her up and down; his explanation was going to sound very stupid indeed. "…I…I thought you were pregnant."

When Mary stepped back, feeling distinctly weak in the knees, he seemed to feel he had to apologize for his blunder, even though none of this could be placed on his shoulders.

"I didn't think anything of it once I saw you again – I was barely conscious yesterday; it's feasible I was a little backwards, but this…"

"Marshall…I…" she would've loved to lie to him, to erase that aghast, dismayed look resting profoundly in his handsome face, but she couldn't. "I…I _was_ pregnant, but it…" it was her turn to gulp. "It…it was eight years ago."

And there was nothing here to indicate she wasn't being perfectly, brutally honest. One look would tell Marshall she was not with child and hadn't been for a long time, for she had finally, about two years previously, gotten back to her original size. This left him to gape and wonder where all the misplaced puzzle pieces had gotten to between the car crash and now. Near as Mary could tell, he was stuck eight years in the past. He'd believed Mary was carrying a baby, that he was still involved with Abigail, that Brandi and Peter were not married and certainly not expecting a child of their own.

Mary had to strain to think what else had been going at that time in their lives, depending upon which portion of the year he had landed on. One thing was for sure. They had not been married, which explained why he'd looked so appalled after having such a reality thrown in his face.

It was imperative the woman remain composed, and yet she had never felt less composed in her whole life. Deep down, she knew her fears had to be nothing compared to Marshall's. After all, how frightening must it be to wake up and discover you were missing eight years of your life? Mary had-had enough trouble not retaining _one_ instance after she'd been shot; she couldn't imagine how she would've fared if a decade had been wiped out.

But, regardless of how cool she tried to be, there was no denying the hot, overwhelmed sensation taking over her body. What would Melissa say when she was told that her beloved step-father had not a clue who she was? The thought alone was enough to reduce her to tears, and a stubborn, valiant one actually snuck out. Mary sniffled loudly to rid herself of it and, unfortunately, the noise caused Marshall to take notice.

"I…I'm sorry…"

"No…" Mary moaned, but she sounded whiny, and speaking caused more tears to fall. "It's not your fault; there's just been a mistake…" but, what mistake, she didn't know. "I'm…I'll…talk to the doctors. I'm sure they can do something…once…once they know what's going on…" she didn't even want to think about the physicians having no explanation for this behavior. "Don't…don't worry about it. Time will help…"

She was spewing all of those revolting platitudes that she hadn't held any stock in when no one had been sure if Marshall was going to survive. The words were empty, and she despised herself for using them, because it couldn't have been clearer that they were of no solace to Marshall. He seemed more enraptured by the way she was crying so freely than anything else.

"I…I'm…could I ask you something?" he requested, still watching her mop at her eyes.

"Yeah, of course…" Mary tried to appear agreeable and worry-free, even though she was neither of those things. Slipping back onto the edge of the bed and patting his good leg, "Sure. What?"

The man considered for a moment, and by the look on his face, Mary thought he might be pondering how foolish his inquiry was going to sound. There was no way around it, however. If he was going to get caught up, he was going to have to look as inept as she was sure he felt.

"Is…is Melissa _my_ daughter?"

For the first time since their hectic exchange had begun, Mary didn't have a definitive answer to give; she wasn't the higher authority when it came to this. In many ways, Melissa absolutely was Marshall's child – in every way that counted. But, she couldn't be sure, when he was so muzzy, that this was what he meant. He was probably thinking in technical terms, and the thought of teaching him all over again that their family didn't operate in the technical sense was immeasurably daunting.

But, because the blonde was fairly certain that was what he meant, that was how she replied.

"Um…no…" she conceded, feeding him a watery smile. "Not…not exactly. The thing is, we don't really…" there had to be an abbreviated way to do this. "See…there's me and there's you and there's Stan and there's Mark…"

"Mark…" he interrupted with a sudden flash in his blue eyes. "Your…your ex-husband?"

"Yeah. Right."

This part, at least, seem to have returned to him, "He…he's Melissa's father. Isn't he? That's…what I thought you told me when…"

"Biologically, yes. He is," Mary interjected. "But, she doesn't call him 'dad.' She doesn't call anybody 'dad.' After you and I got together, we decided that you and Stan and Mark were all going to be on equal footing. So…I mean, Melissa _isn't_ your daughter, but she is – as much as she is Mark's and Stan's. You know?"

"Sure. I…I guess…"

But, no matter what he said, Mary could tell that he didn't 'know' at all. He'd been a part of this delightfully melded family for so many years and now he couldn't remember any of it. Mary would've been surprised if he knew who Mark was at all; if he was rooted in the time when Mary had been pregnant, he would've only met Mark once. They were such good friends now – Mark had said so himself just that morning. It was so much to lose in just one day.

"Look…" the woman whispered and attempted, once more, to smile, but it was very forced. "Don't…don't blame yourself and don't worry…" she'd said that already, and it had been pointless advice the first time. "There's obviously a hitch somewhere here, but those doctors will sort you out, okay? I'll make sure of it."

The tough-girl persona she would've usually adopted after a statement like this faltered a little when Mary reached for his hand. Reluctantly, he slipped his fingers into hers; looking as though her touch alone was something unknown. She did everything in her power to ignore it, knowing it wasn't personal, knowing he was just trying to get his head on straight.

"Did you…?" Marshall spoke out of nowhere, his eyes fixated on their hands intertwined together. "You said we're _married?"_

"Yeah. We are."

Now he glanced up, still shaking his head in wholehearted incredulousness.

"You really _married_ me?"

Mary couldn't tell if he thought this seemingly new development was good or bad, but it explained a lot of things that she had noticed in the last twenty-four hours. It couldn't have been plainer that he had no memory of their tying the knot, that he thought they were the mere partners they had always been.

It was why he had stared shamelessly at her when she'd tousled his hair and squeezed his shoulder. It was why he'd looked so brazenly confused when she had kissed his cheek and ran her fingers up and down his leg.

And it was why, the night before, he had appeared nothing short of wonderstruck when she had murmured, 'I love you' in his ear.

And it was also why, Mary realized with a jolt, he hadn't said it back.

XXX

**A/N: Several of you guessed that Marshall might have amnesia and you were right! I admit I was wary of building a story around this, as it feels a little soap-opera-ish, but hopefully it will bring some good drama! **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: My reviews are showing up again! Hallelujah! And thank-you to those of you who are leaving them! Eleanor appears in this chapter – I hope you like what she brings!**

XXX

"There is something wrong with him!"

"I _knew_ there was something wrong with him – I knew he wasn't right!"

"How could you tell me he was fine when he has some bizarre amnesia?!"

"Where the hell are those CT results, huh?!"

"You're going to fix him – you are going to put him back in the present or I will sue your ass six ways to Sunday, you hear?!"

"This is malpractice, you quack! You are going to jail if I have anything to say about it – I'm a US Marshal; I could do it without blinking!"

"Get out! Just get out and leave me alone!"

These were just a few of the erratic, helter-skelter things that Mary hollered, ridiculously so, at Doctor Warren and his team once she was back in the waiting room. They obliged her for a little while, but eventually they began to fight back, reminding the distraught wife that they had never revealed the outcome of Marshall's CT scans, that they had always stressed the readings wouldn't be available for twenty-four hours. Once she started threatening them with prison and lawyers, though deep down she never intended to invoke either, a few saw themselves out, clearly fed-up with her and her problems.

Bravely, Doctor Warren stayed behind, trying to reason with Mary even though it was obvious she was in no mood to listen. He explained in almost painstaking detail what seemed to have occurred in Marshall's brain. The CT scans showed that he had indeed suffered some kind of memory loss, although there was no way to tell how much. It didn't matter how fervently Mary insisted that he'd had eight years completely obliterated; some patients lost a week's worth, some lost a decade or more. There was no predicting what would vanish or how long the memories would stay hidden.

The small ray of hope in Doctor Warren's speech was that, aside from the forgetfulness, Marshall's brain seemed to be in working order. There was no bleeding, no concussion, no psychical ailment to speak of. This meant next to nothing to Mary, even though she knew she should feel grateful Marshall didn't have yet another anomaly to contend with. There was no telling how he would react when he heard the verdict, but he was asleep at the moment, and neither Mary nor the doctors saw the point in waking him just to deliver bad news.

This left Mary to wallow and weep all by her lonesome once the physicians had managed to escape without being slugged in the face. With the mood she was in, it wouldn't have surprised anyone if she'd resorted to violence, but she'd held herself back, knowing she didn't need assault charges added to her list of worries.

A gnawing ache in the pit of Mary's stomach yearned to tell someone what was going on – to share, to commiserate, to scream that, while her husband might be alive, he was no longer her husband. And yet, whenever she thought about revealing the mess they had landed themselves in, she felt bodily ill because shouting it from the rooftops would make it real. One way or another though, she was going to have to give up the ghost soon. She was positive Melissa was going to ask to visit Marshall the minute she learned he was going to live on, and there would be no hiding her step-father's condition from her then.

The woman was still crying rather immodestly by the time she received company, and without even knowing she was going to. Sick of shedding tears all the time and worn out because of it, Mary knew that having a private waiting room meant she didn't try to shield herself from showing emotion the way she normally would. She certainly wouldn't have been so uninhibited if she'd known Eleanor was going to walk through the doors, a Tupperware bin under her arm.

As it was, Mary barely registered her presence at first, seeing her through a kind of smoke, which was probably her tears clouding her vision. The office manager looked just as she always did; she wore a floral skirt and black shirt, a denim jacket thrown over it to complete the ensemble. Her hair was piled on top of her head in its usual waves, her heels click-clacking on the linoleum. She'd been back in Albuquerque since Melissa had been born, and by this time Mary was finally starting to get used to her being around. They could still spar like two squabbling siblings, but there wasn't near as much animosity behind it as there used to be.

Right now, she wore a look of haranguing worry at the sight of Mary with her face in her hands on the sofa. Even in all their years together, the inspector knew she had certainly tried to avoid sobbing in front of Eleanor at all costs.

"Mary…?"

At the sound of her voice, the mentioned looked up, shaking her hair out of her face and staring through a mist at her colleague. Eleanor's eyebrows had crept together in the middle, as though Mary had gone through some kind of transformation. In many ways, she definitely had.

"Oh…" the blonde breathed huskily. "Hi…"

"Hello," Eleanor replied promptly. "Stan had planned on coming down, but he's swamped and so I decided to pop in…"

"Yeah…" Mary set about running her index finger under her eyelid.

"What's the matter?" she wanted to know. "Last I heard, Marshall had turned a corner…"

"No…he…he's okay…he's okay…"

Why she was saying that, when he was not okay at all, Mary didn't know. It was a reflex – to pretend everything was status quo when it was the furthest thing from. But, Eleanor opted to take her at her word, because tussling with Mary or doubting her was asking for trouble. Therefore, she sat down beside her on the couch and held out the plastic, see-through tub in her hands.

"I made snickerdoodles," she offered. "Have you eaten recently?"

"Mark brought me a biscuit…"

"And when was that?" Eleanor was being awfully matronly, almost more so than Jinx, and her voice was stern.

"I…I don't know; this morning…"

"So, it was for breakfast," she deduced swiftly, immediately unsnapping the lid on her container, which revealed a doughy cinnamon scent. "And, it's almost dinnertime. Have a cookie until you can get something more substantial."

"I don't need anything 'substantial,'" Mary sneered contemptuously. "I'm fine. I'm not even hungry."

"You need your strength and your wits about you," the other woman insisted. "No one will benefit from you fainting because you haven't stopped for a bite. Eat."

Irritated with the way Eleanor could be so bossy and domineering, but knowing she didn't want to dwell on this subject, Mary reluctantly snatched up a cookie and took a hostile bite, glaring all the while. But, Eleanor obviously didn't care what disposition she displayed as she chewed, so long as she ingested something. Besides, the blonde was well aware that her coworker's snickerdoodles were among the best, and one taste proved it. She had devoured the treat in a matter of seconds.

"You made a whole batch?" she questioned once she had swallowed all the crumbs.

"I did," Eleanor replied. "Have another."

"Well…I want to leave some for Melissa," Mary hedged. "She loves them."

"Which explains why I whipped up two dozen in the first place," the elder nodded sharply. "I've never seen a girl her size eat so much."

This was easily ignored, "You're like a PTA mom or something. Where are the napkins with cartoon characters on them?"

"I don't do cartoon characters, Mary," still, Eleanor had not cracked a smile, but that was the way the inspector liked her – stiff, stodgy, but dependable. "Last I heard, Melissa didn't either."

"No…she's too smart for that crap."

With this, Eleanor set the bin onto the table in front of them, pushing aside a few of the out-of-date magazines as she did so. Following this action, she folded her hands primly in her lap and looked at Mary with a steely, ambitious kind of stare. The younger didn't know why, but it made her nervous. Unlike Stan and Mark and even Marshall in his more coherent days, Eleanor would not back away even if she thought Mary was getting testy or uncomfortable. She would push her until she got results.

"So…" she initiated, still holding her perfect posture. "Was there a reason for that brimming, budding emotion you were displaying when I walked in, or was I supposed to pretend not to notice that?"

"Aren't you too late?" Mary griped, glaring in her direction and dusting her hands on her jeans. "Doesn't asking me about it prove you're not going to make believe?"

"I suppose it does," she nodded soundly. "So…" a repetition. "Is there something I could do that would ease whatever caused that little meltdown I happened to observe?"

"It was not a meltdown," Mary corrected snidely. "I'm not having tantrums," although, anyone who had witnessed her performance the day before would be able to refute that statement at once. "Is that what everyone has been telling you?"

"Who is 'everyone?'?"

"Your boyfriend."

"Stan is not my boyfriend."

"Sure," Mary scoffed righteously, proud to have the upper hand for once. "You two are as bad as Marshall and I used to be – skirting around the obvious for God knows how many years now. I would think you'd be one of those people who claims to 'live for every breath, because you never know when it might be your last' or something like that."

This was cryptic, if not downright offensive considering everything that Mary's family had been put through at present, but she didn't see it that way. It was merely a tactic used to get Eleanor to back off, a way to distract her. Unfortunately – or fortunately, depending on your point of view – she saw it the same way, and didn't hesitate to make it known that she knew she was being given the brush off.

"You're deflecting, Mary," she stated calmly.

"No shit."

"Do you swear this much at home?"

"Are you my mother?" she snapped, looking daggers at Eleanor. "Telling me to watch my language?"

"You can evade for as long as you want," the office manager refused to become ruffled. "I have nowhere to be and plenty of time to listen to whatever woes you have recently accumulated. So," it was the third time she'd said that. "What's going on?"

The amount of tolerance she was displaying was irksome to Mary, but with this last, bold declaration she found herself looking at Eleanor in a different light. She'd known from the beginning that she wasn't going to get away with hiding, that her workmate was too full of love and emotion herself to be discomfited by the sight or sound of Mary's anguish. More to the point, however, she had firsthand experience in losing a spouse – physically, or otherwise. That wasn't something anybody else in Mary's life could lay their claim to, unless you counted Jinx and rebellious James, and Mary did not.

With a sigh, she tucked her hair behind her ears, pressing her hands to her cheeks, which were hot and sticky from tears. Her retinas stung from having produced so much moisture, and she was exhausted just from _feeling_ so much, never mind the crying.

"Something…is up with Marshall's memory…"

In the span of about five minutes, Mary had laid out the whole, sad, sorry tale, with many nods and murmurings from Eleanor as she recounted what had happened since she'd last visited her partner. Even the gory details came spilling out – how she'd hollered, how she'd had no patience, and had treated Marshall like he could do anything about his inability to recall. Once she started talking, she couldn't stop, and fortunately for both of them, her tears seemed to have expired, because she got through the story without unraveling into shreds.

Mary was distinctly out of breath by the time she was finished, but Eleanor's face had barely shifted since she'd begun. It was hard to say if she was listening intently or thinking hard – or both – but Mary wanted to make one thing perfectly plain before she received any kind of half-assed advice.

"You can bet that everyone I have to recount this to will tell me to 'be patient' and 'give it time," she scoffed almost pretentiously, like she was above such things. "That's all I've heard since the accident. Well, to hell with patience. I know Marshall. I knew when I saw him yesterday that his attitude didn't come from being doped up. I knew there was something off, and here's the proof right in front of me."

With a deep breath, she decided she had said more than enough, and braced herself for what was sure to be a sunny response from Eleanor. After all, she was one of those people that continuously irritated Mary for trying to see the bright side when there was no greener grass to look upon. From Brandi to Mark and back again, her life was full of them.

But, the older woman just continued to sit there, lost in thought and apparently considering very carefully before she said anything. When Mary glanced to her lap, she noticed her fingering the ring on her fourth finger – her wedding ring.

"Did you know that less than forty-eight hours after my John was that car accident, they told me he was improving?"

This was entirely unexpected and Mary blinked, wide-eyed, with nothing to say right away. It was true that Eleanor had never shied away from talking about her late husband, but she'd never elaborated on the details of the wreck. She'd been fresh off his death when she'd arrived in Albuquerque the first time, and she was the happiest widow Mary had ever met.

Now, however, she did not look happy at all. She looked as brooding and dark as Mary had ever seen her.

Without knowing what the proper response would be, she just shook her head and attempted to sound neutral.

"Really?"

"Yep," Eleanor confirmed shortly. "They said everything I wanted to hear – that he seemed to be making progress, that his vitals were good, that if he continued on the road he was on he would get to go home within a week."

So much for that, Mary couldn't help thinking crassly. John, of course, had not gone home at all.

"And, by looking at him, I had no reason not to believe them," Eleanor shrugged. "He was talking to me and everything. But…the thing is…" she suddenly fiddled absently with one of the curls twirling out of her up-do, perhaps to stall for time. "I _didn't_ believe them. I _didn't_ think John was fine, no matter what I saw, no matter what they told me."

"Yeah?"

"And…in another day or so…" a long, low exhale. "He was back in the ICU, he was back on a ventilator; next came life support, and then…"

Apparently, she didn't see any reason to finish, and Mary certainly wasn't going to make her. They both knew how this ended, and it wasn't favorably. But, the inspector's mind was dim and overworked and she couldn't be sure why Eleanor was sharing this with her. It didn't seem in her nature to want to scare her co-worker into believing Marshall was going to take a turn for the worst, so what else could it be?

"Are you…trying to make this sound ominous?" it was brazen, but it would have to do. "Or is there some lesson I'm missing here?"

"I'm just trying to tell you that instincts count for a lot," Eleanor revealed. "You know Marshall better than anyone, no matter what frame of mind he's in. You need to trust yourself. I mean, trust the doctors to a point…" she specified, not one to start bullying with misconduct like the blonde. "But, if something doesn't feel right, don't let anybody tell you otherwise."

"I gotta say, Eleanor…" the other wagged her head, still slightly alarmed by this tidbit from her often-dull co-worker. "You're the last person I would've expected to be on my side when it comes to defying the frauds around here."

"Well, I don't remember saying it was acceptable to act uncouth…"

"When do you ever think that's acceptable?" she complained, but secretly Mary was glad that Eleanor was displaying her usual, uptight self; it was comforting and familiar. "But, I guess I appreciate the advice, in any case."

"Was that really _gratitude_ I heard? Say it ain't so."

"And here I thought old church marms like you didn't use words like 'ain't.'"

Here, Mary distinctly saw Eleanor suppress a grin, and she had to work hard to conceal one of her own. She really didn't feel much better than she had an hour ago, but just knowing there was someone out there who had suffered just as bad or worse was strangely appeasing. It might be selfish to feel any sort of perverse gladness from knowing Eleanor had endured more than she had, but it was also humbling. Marshall could've gone the same route as John, and there was really nothing to say he wouldn't yet. It was corny, but counting your blessings stood for a lot.

While she was thinking about all this, Mary almost jumped out of her skin when Eleanor placed a hand on her shoulder. Unable to hide her surprise at this gesture of affection, she flashed the other woman a wide-eyed look, wondering vaguely if this was going too far. It was one thing to be held by Mark or even Stan, although the latter certainly had an awkwardness about initiating fondness, but Eleanor? That was new.

But, Eleanor was going to play it as cool as she always did, all-but ignoring Mary's glance of astonishment.

"This is called a hug," the brunette remarked dryly. "Or, part of one, anyway. In case you were wondering."

Mary hastened to roll her eyes, "I have an eight-year-old; I do a lot more hugging than you might think."

"Just checking."

But, mention of Melissa opened up an entirely new can of worms, one that Mary had been doing her best to push to the rear of her mind, but she wouldn't be able to skirt the issue for long. She knew the second she saw her daughter that evening that she would want every waking detail of what was going on with Marshall, and the first available moment she could see him. Then the whole, ugly truth would come out, and Mary would be forced to bear witness to her child's turmoil all over again.

It was tiring just thinking about it, and she decided that since Eleanor had been a decent sounding board once, she might do well to serve in the role again.

"I don't know what I'm going to tell her."

Eleanor seemed to understand, "Missy?"

"Yeah."

"Well…" this was harder for the other woman to relate to, as she had no children, but if Mary knew her like she thought she did, she would do her best to try. "What would your mother have said to you?"

Mary raised her eyebrows, "Now, or when I was Melissa's age?" she didn't see what this had to do with anything, but Eleanor's mind worked differently than hers.

"Fair question," a small chuckle. "I'm just curious because, if I've learned anything as I've grown older, those terrible moments with our parents are those that stick in our minds – either because we were reassured exactly as we should have been, or because someone went about it all wrong and we were scarred for life."

This was followed by another flighty laugh, but it was hard to deny she had a point. When Mary thought of the tense, uneasy times in her childhood, the most vivid portions were those where Jinx or James had completely botched an important discussion. One instance in particular stood out above all the rest, and there was no guessing as to why.

"_He's gone…he's not coming back…you were his little girl; he adored you, sweetheart…"_

"She'd have dumped the blow on me without even thinking," Mary suddenly blurted out, squashing the painful memory of her father leaving in no time flat. "And then, if I got upset, she would've tried to backpedal – to sugarcoat everything to make it look like it's not as bad as it really is."

"Your mother?" Eleanor wanted to follow.

"When I was a kid, that's what she would've done," Mary elucidated. "Now, though, I don't know. She might've been more careful."

"And, what do you do with that?"

It was like a school lesson, and there was no one in her life more like a teacher than Eleanor. Except for Marshall.

"I can't lie to Melissa," she deduced at once. "And I can't pretend this is something that it isn't. It'll screw her up more down the road if I act like Marshall's magically going to regain his memory overnight."

Eleanor's hand was still on her shoulder, and she squeezed lightly upon hearing her snarky co-worker come to this conclusion.

"You tell the truth," she reiterated. "Anything else won't get you anywhere."

XXX

**A/N: I really enjoy having Eleanor be a more major player in this story. I always loved her on the show.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: So many catch-up reviews from my friend Jayne Leigh! Hooray! Thank-you to everyone who is sticking by this story and letting me know what you think.**

XXX

Being armed with the truth and nothing more was as intimidating as it was empowering. By the time Mary arrived at home that afternoon, everyone from Stan to Jinx knew all about the setback Marshall had suffered, due in no small part to Eleanor getting the information along the chain of command. On one level, Mary was glad she didn't have to relay the news six or seven times over, but she was also getting tired of being paid condolences like Marshall had died. It was going to be hard enough spilling the beans to Melissa, a thought that sent her into a frenzy in the span of about two seconds. She didn't need everyone falling all over themselves to be sympathetic at the same time.

Mark had taken Missy to the movies after school, an event in and of itself that the child had to find peculiar. She had no patience for the theater, much preferring to be out running around or lost in the land of make believe in her bedroom. Nonetheless, it provided a distraction and gave Mary some time to prepare what she was going to say. After dealing with what was likely an entirely too hectic day at the office, Stan had appeared at the house for what he called 'moral support.' It was annoying to Mary at the onset, but then she decided that having two thirds of Melissa's 'boys' in the flesh when she detailed the ailing memory of Marshall wasn't such a bad idea.

And so, with the male inspector still asleep in his hospital room and Mary back in her house, she was stationed in the kitchen with her boss when Mark and Melissa came through the front door. She felt guilty leaving her husband all by his lonesome, but reminded herself over and over that he needed his rest anyway, whether it eased the shame or not.

The little girl came bounding through the living room, trailing Mark as though he were merely an old red wagon. She was calling something to the room at large without so much as a hello.

"Is Stan here? I saw his car outside!"

Mary discarded the plate of crackers she'd been munching and dusted her hands on her jeans, using her full mouth as an excuse not to speak right away.

"Right here, captain!" Stan announced with a mock salute. "Drop and give me twenty."

"Yeah, right," Missy scoffed disbelievingly, but she did climb up onto a barstool to look the man straight in his brown eyes. "_You_ give _me_ twenty," she bargained.

Stan chortled loudly, a sound that came from deep in his belly, "Ho-ho – surely someone would pay to see that!" he forecasted. "You don't think I might have trouble with that? I'm kind of like those dinosaurs with the short arms. Who's to say my hands would even reach the ground?"

Mary herself had to chuckle at the image this created, but it was half-hearted at best. Hearing her, Mark joined her at her side, pleased to see that the little one was occupied so he could slip in a word or two.

"How you doing?" he murmured out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm okay…" she barely felt the quick peck he left on her cheek or the jostle of her far shoulder.

"Yeah?" Mark didn't sound convinced, but was mindful to keep his voice still lower. "Sounds to me like you had a rough day."

"Did Eleanor or Brandi tell you?" Mary sighed, knowing it had to be one of those busybodies.

"Brandi," he supplied swiftly, which made sense. "She actually picked Melissa up at school and then brought her to me once I got off work. It was fun, if you want to know the truth…"

"What was?" the woman chanced a question, content watching her daughter engage with Stan.

"Having Missy at work," Mark went on. "I took her up on the roof…"

"You did not," this earned him a goggle-eyed, horrified stare, and she was ready to smack him until he went on, knowing the look he was receiving meant nothing good.

"Calm down. I rigged her up like a little mountain climber; there was no way she was getting hurt…" there were no guarantees with Melissa, not when her equilibrium was so off, but as she was alive and well in the here and now, Mary was willing to concede her ex had probably been appropriately cautious. "And, she liked it – gave me this whole flowery speech about how she could see for miles, all the way across the Sandia Mountains…"

"That sounds like her…"

In truth, it sounded like Marshall, especially the 'flowery' part, but she wasn't going to say that.

"And, you know, the guys there dote on her – gave her a hard hat and everything. I left it in my car; I'll have to get it before I go home…"

But, Mary had quit listening at this point, tuning back in to the conversation that Stan and Melissa were having, which still seemed to be centered on dinosaurs, of all things.

"They don't all have tiny little arms like the tyrannosaurus," the child was educating him in something of a tidy fashion. "Like the brontosaurus. It has four legs. But, did you know that some scientists don't even call it the brontosaurus anymore?"

"What do they call it?" the bald one was prepared to be vastly interested.

"The Apatosaurus, but it still has four legs and eats plants. It's my favorite."

"Yeah? How come?" Stan wanted to know.

Her answer was more prompt than usual, "Because the brontosaurus – or the Apatosaurus – has a really long neck. They remind me of Marshall."

Whether he was supposed to laugh at this or not, Stan clearly couldn't help himself. Fortunately, Missy grinned at the sound of happiness, proving she was not offended by his delight, and had maybe even said what she said as a joke.

"Well, you don't say?" the oldest man commented, Mark joining in the laughter this time. "I admit that Marshall does have that extra-stretched neck thing going on."

"That's why they're his favorite too," she giggled, her cheeks turning the faintest shade of pink.

Mary didn't doubt this for a second; she didn't doubt anything about Marshall and Melissa that included a sound, thorough knowledge base. But, bringing him up meant that she was only reminded of the fact that the Marshall her daughter knew and loved was no longer the same man. Deep down, she knew this reasoning was overdramatic. Underneath, her partner couldn't be all that different from his former self. No matter what he remembered or what he didn't, surely he was still the warm, loving, sensitive individual she had worked closely with for so many years and eventually wed. Even if they had to start all over, Marshall had claimed to have loved her from afar for years. They wouldn't really be beginning from scratch.

Except where Melissa was concerned.

And, as though she had read her mother's mind, the girl swiveled on her stool, blinking behind her glasses, seemingly forgetting that Stan and Mark were even there.

"Mama, did you see Marshall today?"

This was easy enough to start out, although Mary distinctly felt Mark tighten his grip on her shoulder and Stan's eyes snapped onto hers. She swallowed, focusing first and foremost on not scaring Melissa.

"I did…" she even managed a smile, although it felt very stiff. "I was at the hospital all day. The doctors operated on his tibia this morning."

"Did they do a good job?"

"As far as I know…" on any other eight-year-old, this would be an odd question, but not Melissa, who sounded like a professional in just six words. "He was awake after lunch and I talked to him for a little while before he went to sleep."

"Really?!" Melissa suddenly adopted a high-pitched squeak in what was obvious excitement; if Marshall was speaking, this was confirmation that he was okay. Regrettably, the enthusiasm vanished almost instantly when her face fell. "Is he mad at me?"

Mary was so taken aback by this query that she didn't think twice before she blathered on, which was exactly what she had promised herself she wouldn't do. That was the Jinx-of-old method, and she had been determined not to use it.

"What? No, of course he's not mad at you. Why would he be mad at you?"

And, without even meaning to, she'd just lied. Mary felt her face grow hot as this realization swept over her, and she prayed Missy didn't notice. Marshall hadn't been angry with her, true. But, that was only because he didn't know she existed. Had he known, he might've felt differently. Not likely, but not impossible.

"I got him hit," Melissa insisted in a meek voice, apparently circumventing however her mother looked. "If he hadn't been helping me, it wouldn't have happened…"

"Missy, that isn't true," Mark butted in, but Mary was glad all the same. "It was nobody's fault; it was an accident."

She ignored him completely, "Did you tell him thank-you for me? I meant to ask you to tell him thank-you last night, but I forgot. He needs to know that I say thank-you, because…"

"Melissa, I'm sure he knows," Mary cut her off, not wanting to know where the end of that sentence was going. "And, anyway, there's something I need to tell you about Marshall. Why don't you come into the living room and sit down?"

She didn't mean to switch gears so abruptly, but the overload of desires from her daughter had pushed her to the breaking point. If she didn't do this now, she was going to clam up and who knew what would happen then – probably something she would regret. Mark and Stan exchanged uneasy glances and Melissa, too, appeared wary of what was coming.

"I don't think you're telling the truth," she asserted out of the blue, but there was nothing harsh in her tone; it was just a statement. "I think Marshall _is_ mad, and you just don't want me to know. Can't I see him, mom? If I could see him, I could tell him I didn't mean for him to get hurt, and I want to see him _so_ bad…"

There was no denying that, with or without a confession of guilt, Missy was indeed dying to visit her step-father. The yearning in her voice was almost painful, as was the way she gazed pensively up at Mary with her enormous, forest green eyes. Sometimes, if she could look past the glasses, the woman could see herself in those eyes, but in most moments it was fleeting and nothing more.

"Well, after you've listened to me and you hear what Marshall's dealing with, if you still want to see him, I will take you tomorrow once school's out."

This wasn't a promise Mary had planned on making, but it was an honest one. And everyone knew Mary kept her word. It was this knowledge that likely would've sent Melissa off to the living room without a second thought, but Mark got there first, clearly not wanting to hear any arguments.

"Come on…" motoring around Mary, he lifted Missy from the barstool where she immediately wound her legs around his waist. "Let's go. Mom wants to talk to you, and it's important…"

This had already been established, but Mark was more firm than Mary had been. It was not a tactic he used very often, as Melissa rarely needed to be severely disciplined, but the woman had the feeling he was doing it more for her benefit than for the little girl's. He knew this discussion wasn't going to be an easy one and wanted to avoid Missy making it more difficult at all costs.

And so, while he carted the child off to the living room, Mary hung back with Stan, who followed suit of Mark and patted the blonde's shoulder in a fatherly way.

"You do your best," he ordered without specifying what he was referring to, but Mary didn't need to guess. "No one can ask any more of you."

Melissa was now far enough away that Mary felt safe articulating her biggest fear about this conversation, "If she freaks out, I'm going to start crying and if she sees me like that…"

Even as she said it, her throat felt tight and Stan could obviously tell, because he switched to patting her back, only reinforcing his paternal mentality.

"Come on now, Missy's a bright girl; she knows this is tough for you too," he figured. "If things get a little jumbled up, it's no big deal. Mark and I will be here if you need anything."

Mary wasn't very sure about this, because neither of these men would be able to erase her tears if any came on without warning, but Stan couldn't swear anything else to her. Being physically present was the best he and Mark could give her and, for now, that would have to be enough.

Seeing that she was going to need a nudge, her boss gestured her forward to get the ball rolling, "Let's go; she's waiting."

And, he was right. Mark had settled Melissa on the couch, preparing her for Mary's arrival, in which she would deliver the bomb that the man she loved most in the world – no matter what they said about equivalent parental roles – had nary a recollection of her existence. Gulping down the apprehension she felt just thinking about it, the inspector strode forward, Stan at her heels, and seated herself on the edge of the coffee table so she was looking directly into Missy's round orbs. Stan lingered in the background, Mark on the other end of the sofa.

The eight-year-old was looking politely bemused now, although there was a definite uneasiness in her gaze for which Mary couldn't blame her. She knew if it were her, she would not have wanted to sit in suspense for long and hurried to get things started.

"Melissa, I want you to know…first of all…" it was best to start with something positive, no matter how Mary might ordinarily abhor such things. "…That, the doctors are pretty sure that Marshall's going to be all right. It was touch and go for a little while yesterday…"

"That means you weren't sure if he was going to die," she interjected daringly, proving her intelligence with every word.

Mark shushed her, "That's right, but you need to listen."

Being strict was a new color on this man. More so than Marshall or Stan, he had been the one who wanted Melissa groomed properly, wanted her to look presentable, and he certainly coddled her more than the other two. But, this resolve he was showing made him seem more like a dad, something Mary did her best to forget.

"Anyway, it looks like he's out of the woods," she tried to go on as if there had been no interruption. "The lacerations on his lungs are healing well, or so I'm told; his ankle is all wrapped up, and he made it through his operation this morning without any problems. Other than being covered in bruises and having an obscene amount of stitches in his arm, they've pretty much fixed everything they can fix."

Remembering Mark's reprimand, Melissa just nodded this time, although Mary could tell she was bursting to contribute. All these scientific terms would ordinarily be a field day for her and, had Marshall been in any shape to do so, he'd have been educating her on the particulars left, right, and center.

"The thing is, sweets…"

Here, Mary stalled without meaning to. A hundred things she'd never before considered when it came to this exchange whirled through her mind, and she couldn't immediately decide which was the most pressing. Melissa was already blaming herself for the wreck, so how would she fare when she learned of this new development? Would it plummet her further into a hole? What if she isolated herself or withdrew from everyone and everything? Worse still, what if she began to act out? Mary wasn't familiar with a Melissa who was constantly livid and screamed until she got her way. She was already trying to handle a whole new Marshall. Would she have to handle a whole new Missy too?

But, she wouldn't know what she was dealing with until she got everything out in the open.

"The thing is…" she repeated herself in an attempt to gain momentum again, and her fingernails began to claw at her jeans because she was starting to feel restless. "Marshall hit his head in the accident. Nobody knows exactly how, and even though he's fine, it's made him forget things…"

"That's called amnesia," Melissa couldn't help herself, and even though Mark opened his mouth to silence her again, Mary held up a hand, indicating it was okay.

"Yes, it is," the mother confirmed. "His memory was pretty badly damaged…"

"What sort of things did he forget?" Missy wondered, looking curious inside her spectacles. "Like…people? Or how to do things? Does he not know how to add numbers anymore – is he not as smart as he used to be? Because I don't care about that; he can learn again…"

This was an optimistic view, and Mary was uncharacteristically pleased, but it also wasn't accurate.

"Well, no, sweets," she continued gently. "As far as I know, he's as intellectual as he ever was, or at least he will be once he gets back on his feet," she assured her. "It's…sort of…" the previous questions had thrown her for a loop, and trying to answer them directly was making her feel flustered. "…It's sort of…time…that he's forgotten."

She should've expected the bewildered look that passed through her daughter's features, because she barely understood what she'd said herself.

"What do you mean?"

Now, Mary could only do this the way she had planned, however slipshod it might be.

"He's behind, Melissa. Whatever blow he sustained to his head has wiped out several years of his life. For example, he didn't remember that we were married," she shared, even though it made her ache. "He'd forgotten that Eleanor lived here now, and he just barely remembered meeting Mark here…"

"But…Eleanor's been here since I was born…and so has Mark…" Melissa stated. "How far behind is he?"

"About eight years."

Sad and defeated, the child blinked dolefully up at her mother, understanding sweeping her sweet, angelic features in a matter of moments. Mary had always been so proud of having a daughter that was such a brain but, just now, she wished she were a little dimmer. If she were, they could delay this crushing moment just a few minutes longer. As it was, Melissa put the pieces together faster than Mary was prepared for it.

In a voice barely louder than a whisper, "He…he doesn't remember me then…" Flickering her lids up to Mary's, "Does he?"

Doing what she could to ignore the somber looks on the faces of Mark and Stan, Mary forced herself to shake her head, knowing there was no turning back now.

"No…sweets, he doesn't."

There was a profound silence following this pronouncement, and Mary knew she had to let it wash over them no matter how uncomfortable the quiet made her. Pounding Melissa with reassurances and platitudes would just overwhelm her, and half of them probably wouldn't even be true. If she waited, the little one might revert to more questions, in which case her mother wouldn't have to think of what to say, she could just reply honestly.

It was impossible not to watch the second grader, however – to scrutinize her for signs of what she might be thinking or feeling. At the moment, she appeared relatively blank, if not slightly downhearted. She wouldn't meet anyone's eyes, clearly just trying to swallow up the news she had received, which was a lot for anyone. One thing was for sure – she seemed to be taking it much better than Mary had.

After a few minutes, she worked up the gumption to speak again, "He…he doesn't remember me…_at all?"_

"Well…" Mary was so glad to hear her say something that she leapt at the chance to respond. "He remembered that I had been pregnant, but he was…confused and thought I still was. That baby was you, obviously, so there's that…"

"But, nothing else?" Missy prodded. "Not about…the fire or…or…anything?"

It was funny – more ironic, actually – that she had brought this up, because this was exactly the method Mary had used to try and goad Marshall into recollections. Like mother, like daughter.

"No," she was forced to disclose. "He's kind of…stuck in the past right now…"

"But, won't his memory come back? That happens sometimes…"

"It might," Mary would give her that. "But, I don't know. Nobody does. The doctors told me that it's most likely to come back in pieces – kind of like puzzle. He won't remember everything all at once, but in little parts over time. I can vouch for that, Melissa, because when I was shot…" For half a second she took a detour, "You remember that I was shot a long time ago, don't you?"

"Mmm hmm…"

"Well, I had trouble remembering things too, and my doctor told me the same thing – that portions would come back slowly, and they did."

"Did you forget as much as Marshall?"

"No…" she seemed to have said that a lot in the last five minutes. "At first, I was fuzzy on just about everything, but once I started to get better, only being shot was completely empty – I couldn't remember anything. But, eventually…" She wanted to give her hope even if it was impractical, "Eventually, I did."

Melissa wasn't one to place a lot of stock in things like 'eventually' but it was the most promising scenario Mary could convey right now. After all, Doctor Warren had said that Marshall could improve when given the opportunity to recuperate, and had even indicated that being around once-familiar people and places might jog his memory into place. He'd seemed less sure about the latter, which was why Mary opted not to share it with Missy.

Possibly because the technical structure of the discussion was not Mark's style, he seemed keen to get things onto a more impartial plane, studying the little girl's face with skepticism.

"If you're upset about this, Missy Jean, then that's totally okay," he seemed to be promoting a little bit of a disturbance, as it would be natural. "I know that mom was upset…" he cast Mary a cagey glance, as if asking permission to reveal this a little too late.

But, it seemed Melissa had few thoughts to spare for her mother, "Well, what about Marshall?" she wondered aloud. "Wasn't he upset?"

Neither Mark nor Stan could answer this, and both looked to the woman to respond.

"Yes…he was," she said with a sigh. "Frustrated," an emphasis. "It is a frustrating time, but if I know him, he'll be looking on the bright side soon enough. It's what he does."

This might've been a risky assumption, but Melissa didn't even seem to hear it. She was shaking her head and looking marginally distraught, but something about it was poles apart from what Mary would've expected. There was too much consideration – and, indeed, compassion – in her face for the inspector to think she was concerned for herself.

And, her next words only solidified this theory.

"Poor Marshall," she murmured sadly. "He doesn't know who anybody is or what's going on. He must be scared."

Wasn't that just like a kid? Mary thought. Here you thought you had them all figured out, and they ended up displaying a wisdom far beyond their years just when you least expected it. But, really, if she'd taken the time to mull over who Melissa was as a person – who she had always been – she would've realized that her first thought would be for the one she loved. She had learned that kind of empathy from Marshall himself, and apparently it was living, running rampant, in her very skin.

"Well, I…" Mary cocked her head, wondering what she could say that would follow-up her daughter's kind comments. "He probably is…sort of scared…" she hadn't really pondered that. "But…he still knows me and Stan, so I hope that helps…"

"I still want to see him, mom."

"What?" Mary had been so consumed in a proper response that she hadn't been listening.

"You said once I heard what was going on, that if I still wanted to see Marshall, I could. Well, I want to…I _need_ to…"

"Are you sure, captain?" Stan must've decided it was time he said something, because he stepped forward, the better for Missy to see him. "I'm sure it doesn't seem like it right now, but it might be hard…" He hesitated before deciding to be more candid, "Marshall might seem pretty different. He's going to talk to you like he's never seen you before…"

"I don't care," Melissa didn't waver, not even an inch. "He can talk to me however he wants. He might act different on the outside, but that's not really him. You know why?"

And, Mary had to admit she was curious, "Why, sweets?"

"Because my favorite part of Marshall is his heart. And that part is exactly the same."

XXX

**A/N: Ah, innocence is bliss, right? If only it were that simple! ;)**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: More catch-up reviews – this time from Adelled! Yay! And thanks again to the rest of you leaving them as well.**

XXX

The next morning, Mary enlisted Mark to take Melissa to school – still in her overalls, with a green thermal shirt this time – so she could return to the hospital and brief Marshall on the fact that his step-daughter would be visiting him sooner rather than later. Melissa had been going wild with excitement at the prospect of seeing the man, whatever the inadequacies with his memory. Mary had been away from him far longer than she wished to be, but she had contented herself with the idea that he might need some space while he wrapped his head around things. Plus, she knew Stan had been by to shoot the breeze the night before, and that eased her mind.

But, since she'd left Marshall completely alone after first discovering he'd misplaced nearly a decade of time, it was hard to know what she was walking into on this, a cool and sunny Friday. She opted to take Brandi along for the visit, knowing she hadn't seen him either, and that she would be a good buffer if things became awkward. It was true that her sister could sometimes be loud and overbearing, but Mary felt confident that she would still treat Marshall like next to nothing was wrong, and at the moment she was certainly a fan of that. Plus, now that she was less than two weeks from her due date, Peter had her coming into work less and less for fear that she would pass out or go into labor on the showroom floor.

It was her soon-to-be-nephew that was on her mind as the pair of Shannons walked through the ICU, probably because she was trying to keep her thoughts on something harmless. Anybody who got a good look at Brandi these days could hardly fail to notice that she was seconds away from popping anyway. Mary shuddered to think how big she would've gotten if she'd ever made it to forty weeks gestation, but as it was, thirty-two had been her tipping point. Still, Brandi was only now slightly larger than her sister had been at that time, which made the latter uncharacteristically grumpy.

"How's Bruiser doing?" Mary adopted her tried-and-true nickname, marching in step beside the younger sibling. "You been feeling okay?"

"Not bad…" Brandi replied airily. "But, I have been having a lot more of those…what-do-you-call-'em…" she snapped her fingers, as if that would make the term spring to mind. "Braxton Hicks contractions. They're not even that bad, but Peter flips out _every time_. He is going to be a nervous wreck in the delivery room…"

"Between the two of you, it'll be a sight, I'm sure," Mary predicted mulishly. "If I were you, I'd be picking a coach that doesn't break out in a cold sweat every time you start breathing…"

"Mary, he's my husband," the other scoffed like the idea was ridiculous. "I can't ban him from watching his own child come into the world just because he's jittery…"

"Yeah, well, when I had Melissa, Marshall was my 'husband' too," Mary drew air quotes around the word. Realizing the dark irony in this statement, "Hell, that's probably what I should call him now. My 'husband.'"

Brandi clearly didn't know whether she was supposed to say anything to this, but she gave Mary a sideways glance, wondering if this was her typical sarcasm or a masked cry for help. After a few seconds, she seemed to conclude that it was best to keep quiet, and the elder couldn't blame her. There was no good retort to such a bleak pronouncement, and she decided to spare her sister the task of finding the right words when there were none.

"You had anymore thoughts on names?" she tried to sound conversational, but a sigh snuck its way in.

"For the baby?" Brandi seemed startled by the change in direction, but took it in stride. "Sometimes, yeah. But, just when I think I have one picked, I end up deciding I don't like it…"

"Like what?"

"Well, like the other day I told Missy that I liked 'Ian.' And, I do, but it doesn't really go with 'Alpert…'"

"If you say so," Mary had never given the matter very much thought.

"So, then I was leaning more toward 'Evan' but I'm not sure Peter's crazy about it. But, we have to find something that goes with 'Harold…'"

"Harold?" Mary questioned, wrinkling her nose in that expert way of hers. "Who's Harold?"

"Peter's father – Hal," Brandi clarified. "That'll be his middle name, because it's Peter's middle name too – I guess it's a tradition. But, I haven't found something that fits with it yet."

"I wouldn't hold your breath," Mary predicted. "I mean, what if I had to resort to family names with Melissa? Melissa Jinx Shannon? I don't think so…"

"I would think you'd just be glad we're going with 'Harold' and not 'James.'"

"Why the hell would you do that?" she whipped around to face Brandi, wondering how she could possibly think it was a good idea to bring up her convict father, of all people, when she already feeling tense. "Dad is not exactly the type of person you want your child to emulate, Squish…"

"And that's why we're not using his name," the shorter of the two reminded her. "But, if I thought I could leave him behind by throwing his name in the trash, then I would…"

"I've already left him behind," Mary couldn't resist saying, sounding pompous and a little too overconfident to be entirely believable. "Good riddance, if you ask me."

Brandi raised her eyebrows, knowing that her sister had done nothing of the sort, that James still lingered like a bad rash or an unpleasant smell – omnipresent, in his own way. But, she at least knew better than to articulate what she was feeling out loud, and they were out of time for discussing the criminal anyway. They had arrived at Marshall's door, and Mary really was able to leave all thoughts of James in the past – at least for the moment.

"This is it," she announced, swallowing and trying to look like the prospect of seeing her husband wasn't terrifying her. "Just…don't lose your shit or anything, okay?" she requested, estimating unfavorable behavior from Brandi before they'd even entered. "Don't ask a lot of questions, and don't act like the memory thing is a big deal, and don't talk about the accident because he gets aggravated every time I try…"

"Mare…" Brandi finally cut her off with a hoarse, relaxed laugh and placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll be good, I swear," it was as though she were a six-year-old who needed to be reminded that hospitals were supposed to be quiet places. "We don't have to talk about anything important. Marshall likes kids; we can just talk about the baby for all I care…"

"This isn't _all_ about you."

This time, Brandi fed her a little more of a scowl, proving that she was getting fed-up with Mary's inability to be pleased or hold any faith in her abilities.

"Well, if we don't talk about me, what are we gonna talk about? Stuff that happened eight years ago?"

The older Shannon knew she had been beaten here, especially since she'd just placed many a stipulation on what _not_ to discuss. And so, with only a minor roll of her eyes, she nodded resignedly and held out her hand, indicating that Brandi should head inside.

"Right…whatever…" the inspector murmured. "Let's go, then…"

And so, Brandi pushed open the door and was met with the sound of pinging monitors and rustling coming from the bed where Marshall was sitting up, spooning what looked like cherry Jell-O into his mouth. He brightened slightly when he saw who had come in, but there was still a timidity that resided in his face that Mary wasn't used to seeing there. She didn't want him to feel any sense of obligation to her – to have to pretend when the jig was up – but Marshall had spent most of their relationship trying to protect his partner. Now that he was the one who needed shielding, in one sense or another, it was going to take some time to get used to their roles.

"Well…" he began, swallowing his Jell-O and feeding both Mary and Brandi a deceptively sunny smile. "_Two_ Shannon women this morning. I'm a lucky guy."

His wife managed a smile, although she still internally cringed every time she looked at his blemished face; the bruises were a deep purple now, with the minor scratches beginning to heal over.

"Hey…" Mary tried to keep the conversation going, aware of the nurse standing at the sink. "I wasn't sure if you'd be up. Are we too early?"

"No-no…" Marshall waved an airy hand and set the Jell-O carton on his bedside table, apparently finished. "For a hospital, they're not crazy about letting their occupants sleep. It seems I require constant supervision…"

"Like a toddler," Mary snorted, remembering her hospital experiences and knowing how much poking and prodding the doctors did when all you wanted to do was rest. "Jesus…"

"No matter," the man shrugged unconcernedly. "If I'm going to get fit again, I suppose I'll need to know what I'm up against."

Mary suspected that this cheery attitude was an act, especially when she considered how discouraged Marshall had been by his condition the day before. To alter his mindset overnight was asking a lot, even for someone as naturally optimistic as him. Once again, she was gripped with the need to tell him to quit faking, that she could take whatever fears or insecurities he possessed, but with Brandi in the room, it was harder.

And, when nobody said anything to his previous comment, he decided to move on, and although he addressed the younger sister, his eyes kept darting back to Mary every chance they got.

"Brandi…" he smiled, and it almost looked like his real smile; no doubt he was glad to run into someone he recognized. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

Brandi giggled girlishly and stepped up to the bed, Mary lingering in the background. In two seconds, Peter's wife had swooped down upon the bedridden and kissed his temple in hello.

"I wanted to see how you were holding up," she informed him, grinning warmly into his enormous blue eyes, which were not unlike her own. "How are you?"

"Alive, thankfully," he all-but boasted, but Mary could tell that when his smile faltered that he was as unfamiliar with this close contact with Brandi as he had been with his partner's affections.

Yes, he and Brandi had gotten along well enough over the years, but their relationship had grown considerably since he'd joined the Shannon family. She wasn't just Mary's rebellious baby sibling anymore, but his sister-in-law, and the small gap that had existed between them before had certainly been filled in the last eight years. Nonetheless, no matter how off the mark he was feeling, he simply powered on, for learning you had a sister-in-law was a lot less jarring than learning you had a wife.

"I'm so glad to see you…" Brandi continued to gush, not at all put-off by whatever uncertainty Marshall was experiencing. "We were all so relieved you were okay. You're a hero, you know."

Mary wished fervently that the pregnant one had not added that last bit, for Marshall's smirk turned suddenly stiffer.

"So I'm told," he reciprocated with an anxious chuckle. "I'm happy I could be of assistance, at any rate." And then, perhaps to distract from his ailments, he jerked his head at Brandi's stomach. "I understand congratulations are in order. Hopefully, I've been a gentleman and already said as much, but…"

"No, yeah," Brandi laughed, giving the bump a fond look. "You've said, I promise."

"How far along are you?"

"Thirty-eight weeks," she reported, and she didn't seem the least bit concerned with having to dole out information a Marshall from two days ago would already know. "Ready to be done, but pretty nervous too…"

"I'm sure you'll be quite the proficient mother," he assumed spiritedly. "Now, it's not every day I wake up learning that I am about to be an uncle…" Mary truly wished he would not make jokes, because nothing about this was funny, but Brandi seemed heartened by his ability to tease. "But, to a niece or a nephew?"

"Nephew," the blonder provided. "It's a boy."

"Splendid…" he declared. "Then, um…I suppose…" his speech suddenly turned fragmented, like whatever he was trying to say went against his better judgment, and yet he was going to make a concerted effort anyway. "I…I suppose we'll have one of each running around. Your offspring…plus…" At this, he could not keep his gaze away from Mary's, "Plus…Melissa."

The female inspector was chewing on her thumbnail when she heard this, and wasn't fooled in the least by Marshall's statement. He didn't remember Missy any more today than he had yesterday, and the way he said her name – like he was speaking another language – gave him away at once. Suddenly, she didn't know if she could handle having the two of them in the same room together acting like strangers, but she'd promised her daughter. She'd be crushed if she didn't get to come and say hello.

"How…how is Melissa?" he even took a stab at asking about her, peering around Brandi's expanding form to make sure his wife was listening. But, as she'd said very little since coming in, he felt the need to prompt her again. "Mary?"

At this, Brandi whirled around, and the look she shot her sister was one that said very clearly that she should lighten up. That was all well and good for Brandi; it wasn't her that was trying to instill eight years worth of memories in one afternoon. But, by the way her eyebrows raised and her head nodded encouragingly, like Marshall couldn't see her, she expected Mary to play along.

"She's…doing pretty well…" she finally revealed, although she wasn't sure her statement was overly truthful. "I can't get her to stay home from school for anything, so that's where she is this morning."

"Well…that's a girl after my own heart," Marshall proclaimed, although Mary noticed it was with much less gusto than anything he had uttered to Brandi. "I like a lady that is studious."

Mary grinned weakly, her feet carrying her closer to the bed even though she didn't remember wanting to move forward. Brandi seemed unsure what to do with herself now that a second conversation had begun, and eventually decided to keep her place, but not interrupt, looking from Mary to Marshall and back again like they were carrying on a slow-paced tennis match.

"I'm told she has a reading test today," Mary went on just for something to add. "She'll ace it, no sweat. She reads two or three grades ahead of everyone else in her class."

"Oh?" Marshall obviously didn't want to show that he had no knowledge of this facet of his step-daughter and settled for an ambiguous response. "Re…remind me what she's into these days. Reading-wise?" a stammer.

Again, his wife could tell he was feigning some measure of intelligence that he didn't possess – like if she really did jog his memory, it would all come flowing back. She knew that wasn't the case, but she would humor him as best she could, leaning with one hand on the end of the mattress, trying to feel some sort of ease that would recall her to the Marshall of old.

"Those…books about the prairie…?" she wanted to give him an opportunity to feel advanced, like he knew something she did not. "Covered wagons and crap?"

"Oh, the Little House series," Marshall summoned up at once, proving that his recall of every day facts was what it had once been, even if his memories were not. "Laura Ingalls Wilder."

"Yeah, I guess that's it," Mary couldn't honestly say she knew for sure, but she would take him at his word. "Anyway, she likes the history stuff. Any day now she's going to be asking me if we can churn butter smack in our kitchen."

Brandi giggled nervously in the midst of this, perhaps trying to break the tension, and Marshall did the same. Something told Mary he was still trying to wrap his head around the 'our kitchen' portion, because before he'd misplaced all aspects of their married life, they had not shared a kitchen or anything else besides an office. Try as she might to see this through his eyes, it was proving difficult.

"Well…if she's into history, I should take her to one of the museums around here once I'm…mobile again…" the man was attempting to be sweet, Mary was well aware, but it made her heart physically hurt to realize just how little he remembered.

"She's been to most of them with you already," she admitted, hating to burst his bubble, but doing what she could to make it inflate once more. "But, it's one of her favorite things to do…" With a shrug, "She loves the rattlesnake one. She definitely wouldn't mind seeing it again."

But, the discussion seemed to have come to an abrupt end, especially since Marshall's embarrassment over not knowing Missy's likes and dislikes was showing pretty quickly. In the silence while the male inspector fiddled with his sheets and tried to shift even weighed down by his bandaged leg, Mary stole a glance at Brandi, telling her without words that it was time for her to hit the road. Now that they were on the subject of Melissa, she needed to tell Marshall that she was going to be in this very room in just a few hours. In the absence of the younger Shannon, he might not feel like he had to put up a façade concerning how he felt about his littlest visitor.

"You know, Marshall…" Brandi's eyes flashed to her sister's so often, it was impossible for him not to spot the fib, but Mary didn't especially care. "I need to step out and call Peter and figure out what's going on at the dealership…" this was a pretty poor excuse, but getting rid of her was all that mattered. "…I'm totally out of the loop these days since, you know…" she inclined her head toward her stomach. "I'll be back in a bit – at least to say goodbye, okay?"

"Oh…of-of course…sure…" Marshall bobbed his head agreeably, but he wasn't fooled. "It was lovely of you to stop in…"

"I wouldn't have missed the chance," Brandi shot him a glowing smile and bent down to give him a second kiss, this time taking care to pat him on the shoulder, Mary shuffling her feet as she did so. "Rest up, all right? I hope you start feeling better soon."

"I'll certainly do my best."

With that, Brandi bid one of the quickest exits Mary had even seen her give, undoubtedly off to sit in the waiting room until the latter returned. Although her goal had been to have Marshall all to herself, now that they were alone, Mary didn't know quite how to begin what she knew she needed to say. Marshall had inquired about Melissa, yes, but she suspected that was out of politeness, and for no other reason. It was good to know he was as chivalrous and as courteous as ever, but it didn't trick Mary into thinking his memory had improved at all.

At the moment, he was watching the spot where Brandi had disappeared as though he were still seeing her there. Upon realizing that there was no reason to gaze any longer, he shifted his eyes onto his wife and his smile was more forced than ever. All the phoniness was really getting to Mary, and she plunked herself onto the end of the bed, wondering when it had become so easy for her to play a part when ordinarily she could be almost crudely uncensored.

"Brandi looks good," Marshall remarked baldly, and his voice sounded loud, startling Mary out of whatever reverie she had been in.

"Yeah…" she breathed, nodding slowly and wondering what else she could say about her sister that would give her enough time to think through how to broach the subject of Missy again. "She's…really excited to be a mom…" this comment didn't sound like something she would utter at all; the falsehoods were flying left, right, and center. "I'm a little wary, truthfully, but…"

Words tapering into nothingness, Mary could at least content herself with the fact that skepticism toward Brandi was classic behavior – something Marshall would hopefully recognize.

"I mean…I guess…maybe you remember, maybe you don't…" she shrugged placidly. "…She's not such a floozy anymore, but she still has a lot to learn. Thankfully, she has Peter to show her the ropes…"

"Not to mention you," Marshall piped up. "I'd say you have some experience in being maternal."

A shy grin, less fake than all the others, crept onto Mary's face. Cursing herself for blushing like a schoolgirl, she averted her eyes to her lap, where she noticed that she was digging her nails into her jeans because she was so stressed. Feeling this awkward around Marshall was like nothing else she had ever encountered, and the sensation was so odd that she couldn't shake it no matter how hard she tried.

"Well, experience, yeah…" the blonde mumbled, doing her best to sound humble. "I'm no expert, though."

"That doesn't sound right to me…" he went on, for even when he was the one who was practically in traction, he was still the one who sought to console. "If you have a little girl who is able to go to school the day after she's watched her step-father run over by a truck, I'd say you're nothing short of a professional."

Mary's eyebrows flew up, "Who told you that?"

"Told me what?"

"That Melissa saw what happened."

"Well…I mean…" he hedged, detouring around a definitive answer. "You…sort of. And…Stan did his part on filling me in."

This made sense, of course. But, Mary had been foolishly holding out hope that he'd retained at least tiny recollections from the accident, and it was clear he had not. He was just piecing together the parts he had in order to form the whole picture.

"She did see what happened," Mary reiterated, resolving to forget how or why Marshall knew the details, just as long as he knew them. "But, I'd be lying if I said I knew _exactly_ what she saw. No one was with her except for you, and she's not talking. Maybe she will once she's seen you."

This was something she had vocalized to her husband when she had seen him before, but her motivation was different this time. It was not a throwaway wish she was sharing with him, but a deliberate tactic used to make him aware that keeping Melissa away was going to be nothing short of impossible if they waited much longer. What was more, Mary was not the kind of mother who denied her well-behaved, sweet, polite, brilliant child something she wanted this desperately. Melissa had always asked for so little, and Mary wasn't going to reject her pleas for something as monumental as this.

Fortunately, Marshall seemed to pick up on precisely what she wanted him to, because it was his turn to inch his eyebrows upward, looking dubious and not at all confident.

"I wasn't sure I would be seeing her until I was able to go home, and there's no telling when that will be…"

Even in such a short sentence, Mary could tell he was nervous, but she bulldozed right over that.

"Marshall, she is _dying_ to visit," ordinarily, she would never sound so whiny, but there was no other way to convey just how fiercely Missy was banking on entering the ICU. "She misses you so much…"

"Except, I'm not really 'me' anymore…" he conceded dispiritedly. "Does she know that?"

"I told her last night," Mary offered up at once. "And she still wants to come. I understand if it will be strange for you, but Melissa is not a typical kid. If she says she can handle this, I trust her…"

"You said she's only eight years old…"

"But, not a typical eight," she repeated. "All she wants is you. She doesn't care what crap comes along with it."

"I'm still not sure it's such a good idea," Marshall was as firm as he could be when he was so physically ailing. "She's undoubtedly already disturbed from witnessing the accident. Having her come here just to find out that I don't know her from any other second grader…"

"But, I told you, she already knows that," Mary was becoming as insistent as he was, knowing she couldn't bear to disappoint her daughter anymore. "I had a whole discussion with her last night – Mark and Stan were there; you can ask them…"

"I'm not doubting your sincerity here, Mary," he cut in, sighing deeply and rubbing a sore spot on his chest, which seemed to have become a nervous habit very quickly. "You know her better than I do…"

"When you're _you_, I don't," being Melissa's flesh-and-blood-mother made no difference to her; everyone in their jumbled family knew that, on a good day, nobody could read the little girl like Marshall. "Marshall, if you…if you weren't…I mean, if your memory was…"

"If I hadn't forgotten my own child," he interrupted, and his voice sounded suddenly harsh with a trace of bitterness, an odd and jarring color on a man who was always so sensitive. "I'd know everything about Melissa if I weren't so inept as to forget my own child," he was finishing her sentence, Mary rapidly realized. "Isn't that what you mean?"

The look on his face was severe, and it threw her off the mark momentarily, not knowing what to do with a Marshall that was angry. Even when she was at her most infuriating, it still took Marshall ages to become anything close to furious. And while Mary knew that, rationally, he had every right to act out and was even doing so out of frustration, she still didn't know how to handle him or herself. She was the mean, blunt one. How would he deal with her, if the situation were reversed?

It was this question that enabled Mary to back down, to think before she spoke, to try and understand that forcing Marshall into accepting Melissa this early was not the way to go.

"This is not your fault," she whispered as tenderly as she knew how. "You're acting like you're doing this on purpose – that you're _choosing_ not to remember Melissa. You and I both know that isn't true…"

"Even so," he fiddled with his blankets, looking suddenly ashamed of his outburst. "How can the memory of someone so supposedly dear to you just vanish out of thin air? You'd think your heart would know better…"

Against her will, Mary felt her own heart begin to lift upon hearing these beautiful words. They were nearly identical to the ones Melissa had articulated to her the night before. She had explained why going to visit a Marshall that had no joyful reminiscences of them together didn't bother her – because, underneath, he was still the same guy. Missy might carry that kind of faith, but it was plain that Marshall was having far more difficulty harboring the same thing.

"I don't understand it either…" Mary was free to admit, resting her hand lightly on his tightly woven cast, the plaster rough beneath her fingers. "But, the doctors did say that introducing you to familiar things might start bringing you back to the present…" he knew this already, but she didn't see the harm in recalling him to this fact. "And, I can guarantee that if you were yourself, Melissa is the first person you'd ask for."

"Outside of you, you mean."

"Well…" her cheeks flamed red, but she did her best to ignore it. "I…I guess so," a shaky chuckle.

"Look…Mary…" again, he exhaled loudly, like breathing all by itself was a challenge. When your lungs had been torn apart, you could anticipate nothing less. "If you really think she'll be okay, then I don't want to stop you from bringing her here – if that's what she wants. I just…I can't promise anything…"

"I don't expect you to."

"Because simply laying eyes on Melissa isn't going to bring everything rushing back."

He needn't have worried about his wife holding on to some false hope where that was concerned. Him coining the little girl who had brought them together by her full name, not a 'Little' or 'Missy' within spitting distance told her plenty about where his memory was, and that it had yet to return.

XXX

**A/N: Some Brandi to lighten the mood. ;)**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: It seems chapter fourteen disappeared for awhile, but it is back now! Good deal! Thank-you all so much for the continuing reviews!**

XXX

Mary's walk through the Intensive Care Unit with Melissa could not have been more different than the stroll she had taken with Brandi that morning. Earlier in the day, she had felt like there was lead in her feet, that it was taking all her strength and gumption just to step on every crack in each of the linoleum tiles. But, with her daughter by her side – or rather, skipping in front of her – she was forced to pick up the pace, to reinstate some kind of spring in her step. Because, if she didn't hurry, Missy was going to trip head over heels no short of miles ahead of her. Enthusiasm was radiating from the light that shone out of her dazzling green eyes, and she did stumble once, seemingly over her shoelaces, before Mary caught her and admonished her to slow down.

"Sweets, watch out," she insisted, hoisting her up by the straps of her overalls. "And don't get noisy, you hear? The people in these rooms are not well at all…"

"I know _that_," Melissa sniffed contemptuously, shaking her head so that her ponytail wagged side-to-side. "And, I wasn't being loud!" true, she hadn't been, but her voice rose distinctly upon trying to defend her honor, and Mary put a finger to her lips.

"Hush…"

Perhaps to satisfy her burning desire to see her step-father, and see him now, Melissa settled for stomping her foot at being made to wait another second.

"I'm _sorry!_" though she didn't sound it, speaking in an anxious whisper. "But, you're going too slow! Marshall will be asleep before we get there!"

"He might be asleep anyway…" Mary reminded her, half-hoping this would be the case, because she couldn't help thinking that Melissa's eagerness would abate rather quickly once she saw how bad things had gotten. "He's tired; he has a lot of recovering to do…"

"You already told me that!" Missy bleated on, her tone rising to a whine. "Can we go, _please?_" she shot a look of longing down the hall, though she didn't know which door belonged to Marshall.

"Sweets, we _are_ going," a hand landed on the child's shoulder, and while the mother might not be the most affectionate person, she found herself wanting to be close to Melissa in this moment. "I just want to know that you're aware of what you're getting into here. I know this seems like something you want now, but when all is said and done…"

At this, Melissa lost her patience. Sticking a hand on her hip, she aimed a haughty stare at the blonde, and it was so reminiscent of the one Mary herself so often used that she had to fight not to take a step back. She had been told on more than one occasion that she and Missy looked alike, but it was never as prominent as when the younger put on her sassiest temperament.

"Do you think I won't love Marshall anymore if he can't remember me?"

Part of Mary wanted to laugh at such a serious question coming out of an eight-year-old's mouth. But, she was far too used to Melissa to do that, although it was still a bit rattling. It unnerved her that her daughter, who was not even ten yet, could be more mature about Marshall's newfound deficiencies than she could. Perhaps innocence really was bliss.

Therefore, she sighed, and compressed the shoulder blade that her hand was still resting upon, her fingers long and trailing onto Melissa's back like a spider's.

"Of course I don't think that…" she whispered, wishing they could have this conversation someplace less conspicuous. "I mean, I don't love Marshall any less, so there's no reason you would."

"Then what are we waiting for?!" Missy burst, forgetting all about being quiet and throwing up her hands to illustrate her point. "I've been waiting since Wednesday! Everybody's seen him but me!"

"Mark hasn't," this sounded petty and churlish, but Mary needed to be right about something.

"He did too; you said he was here yesterday!"

"Well, he was," Mary admitted. "But, he didn't come to see Marshall; he came to see me."

"For what?"

"He thought I could use the company while Marshall was in surgery."

"But, you don't like company."

Mary craned her neck backward, not having been aware that her daughter saw her this way. It was silly to be surprised, really, because Melissa was very perceptive, and anybody within breathing room of Mary had to know that an ambush of people trying to coddle her was not something she relished. Still, this wasn't a trait she really wanted to pass on to her young, and so decided to fib.

"That isn't true, Melissa. You know I like Mark…"

"You _like_ Mark – and Stan and Brandi and Peter – but you always want to be alone when you're upset, and I bet you were real upset that Marshall's leg was broken…"

She soon became a mirror image of her daughter, hand on her hip and all.

"Where are you getting this?" she wanted to know. "I may not want anybody suffocating me, but that doesn't mean I need to be all by myself…"

"So then, how come you won't let me see Marshall?" even though they were mere feet from him even as they spoke. "Do I have to be all alone because I'm upset too, or can't I be with other people?"

This was getting confusing, but one thing was for sure, Mary didn't want her little girl entertaining the notion that it was commonplace or even expected for you to shut yourself away when you were suffering. 'The boys' may have had quite the impact on her, but Inspector Shannon still ran deep in her blood, and Inspector Shannon never bat an eye, no matter how miserable she was. But, it wasn't healthy, it wasn't right, and Marshall – the real Marshall – would never stand for it.

Smoothing the child's hair, "You can talk to and be with whoever you want," she clarified, still speaking in hushed tones. "I just want to keep you from getting hurt, sweets. You've really gone through the wringer these past few days…"

"What's a wringer?" she wrinkled her nose, which made her glasses scrunch up, causing her to squint through the frames.

"It just means you've been through a lot," Mary rushed to explain. "More than anybody should have to go through. I don't want you to feel like you've lost Marshall, whether he knows who you are or not, because I believe he's still in there somewhere."

Here, Melissa grinned, "Me too." And then, unable to stop herself, "So, _now_ can we go? Please-please?"

Mary was not easily influenced and even less susceptible to batting eyelashes from a little girl who had probably never used her cuteness to gain anything in her life before this moment. Nonetheless, her daughter was the reason she got up in the morning, and she seemed so certain that Marshall's mere presence would guarantee her happiness. After two days of nothing but hell, there was nothing left to do but trust her.

Gesturing up the hall, she nodded in the direction they had been headed before they'd stopped, indicating she could lead the way.

"Door after next on the left…"

Melissa didn't need further directions. She shot off like a rocket, managing not to sprawl on her face this time, and Mary had to jog to keep up. Part of her wished to stay behind, too nervous of what would occur when that hatch swung open. It hadn't revealed anything favorable every time she'd walked through it, not counting a Marshall that was at least alive.

And yet, on the off chance this went as well as Missy was obviously hoping, Mary knew she didn't want to miss the reunion. Catching up right on the heels of her child, she was the one who pulled the frame back, for Melissa had already turned the knob when she got there.

Once inside, she screeched to an immediate halt, and Mary could've sworn her shoes squeaked on the linoleum, like they were inside a bizarre cartoon. Any minute now, little white cloud puffs would billow from the floor – an indicator that Melissa was, quite literally, burning rubber.

She'd warned against Marshall being asleep, but he wasn't, and deep down she didn't really think he would be. Before hearing the door, he seemed to have been browsing a newspaper, and his wife noticed his eyes were droopier and duller than they had been that morning. She sincerely hoped he had managed to catch a few winks in the time between, but knew it had to be tough. There was undoubtedly a lot on his mind and just as much to cause him physical discomfort.

When he saw he had visitors, his bright blue orbs appeared over the top of the paper and he folded it in two, the better to see the duo. The smile he managed to produce was, predictably, a strained one, but if Mary really looked – only if she _really_ wanted to see it – there was the tiniest glimmer of the old Marshall living behind it. The mind could play funny tricks on you when you desired something badly enough. For Mary, it was the need for Marshall to remember something – anything. For him, it had to be the thirst to recall that the breathless little girl standing between them was indeed Melissa Jean Shannon.

The scene seemed suspended in mid-action, and Mary couldn't help feeling slightly awkward due to the fact that she had trailed in rather inexpertly after Melissa, like a hanger-on. Instinctively, she reached out and curled her fingers around Missy's collar, because she showed every sign of running full-tilt into the bed. Fortunately, she slipped seamlessly into her mother's grasp, allowing her to hold her in her side and observe the man as though he were a spectacle on display.

"Hi…" Marshall finally said, discarding the newspaper to give them his full attention.

"Hi…" Mary repeated. "Didn't mean to make such an entrance. Someone's pretty gung-ho," patting Missy's head.

"Yes, I can see that…" he mused. He cleared his throat, and his gaze shifted downward, meaning he was focusing on the youngest among them, who looked ready to burst apart at the seams. "Hi…" Even before he spoke, Mary knew the words were going to sound strange, but she admired him for trying. "Hi Melissa."

What she expected next, Mary had not a clue, because her daughter's staggering maturity up until now had constantly surprised her. She felt Melissa tighten her grip on the hands splayed on the bib of her overalls and when she looked down she saw that she was absolutely beaming. How she could smile so widely and genuinely when, for all she knew, Marshall was seeing her for the first time, was remarkable. But, nothing about her joy could possibly be a sham. It seemed to shine out of her pores, like there was an inner light suffused in her very skin.

"Hi Marshall!" her voice came out in a high-pitched squeak, so that she sounded like a hummingbird. And then, as though she were thirty years old, "How are you?"

"Well, I'm okay…" he nodded sedately. "Feeling better. How are you?" their mutual courtesy was off-the-charts.

"Good," Melissa replied, but not as though she had really given the question much thought. It soon became clear that there were other things on her mind, because she tilted her chin upward to stare at her mother. "Can I give him a hug, mom? Please?" she even bounced a little on the spot, as though she were bound by chains just waiting to break.

In the briefest of seconds, the female inspector managed to confer with Marshall noiselessly, and he sent her the smallest of nods. Part of it was resigned, like he had prepared himself for this, but another part seemed quietly eager. How could he not love a child that was Mary's?

"I don't know; you'll have to ask him…" she would do anything to facilitate camaraderie between the two. "His injuries may be sore…"

Missy turned to Marshall once more, "Could I? I'll be careful; I won't hug too hard…"

Even though he had already given the green light, albeit it nonverbally and not to Melissa herself, Marshall seemed to hesitate. But, this might've been simply to get himself into a suitable position, because he shifted to the edge of the mattress and, eventually, bobbed his head for a second time.

"Sure…" he was attempting to sound moderate and easygoing, but he still came off uncertain. "Why don't you come over?"

Melissa did not need telling twice. She broke free of Mary's iron hold in milliseconds and bounded forward. The mother was sure she was going to crash right into Marshall, who was already in a weakened state, but when she was mere inches away, she seemed to fade into a slower, steadier version of her former helter-skelter-self.

And, for one, glorious second, Mary saw the pair that she had watched with affection and adoration for the past eight years as though they were too good to be true. She saw her Melissa and her Marshall, exactly as they were supposed to be, nothing hampering them, no setbacks, no roadblocks, nothing at all to tether them to the ground. Melissa folded seamlessly into her step-father's grasp, her head cradled beneath his chin. Marshall's arm curled around her willowy build, sheltering her as best he could from his strange position. Both sets of eyes fluttered shut and Melissa let out a soft, sweet sigh, a half-smile playing in her beautiful features as she soaked the embrace up for all it was worth.

It was Marshall who glanced up first, and when he did, he found that his wife was grinning too, even if she hadn't intended to. Somehow, he found it in him to do the same, for no matter how peculiar this situation was, he couldn't say no to a little girl who just wanted to put her arms around him.

"Thanks, Melissa…" with this comment, one that was clearly the eight year old's cue to wiggle away, Mary felt all the familiarity vanish like a cold breeze had swept through the room. "You're so gentle…"

Perhaps he thought the compliment would allow them separation, and at the sound of his voice, Melissa did back up, still exuding exhilaration from all angles. Her face swam in front of Marshall's, staring up at him with the utmost admiration. But, she slipped into a chair that had been placed at his bedside, perched on the very edge; it was high enough that her feet didn't even touch the floor.

Marshall seemed to think she was anticipating something, judging by the look on her face, hands clasped in her lap and legs swinging underneath the chair. But, Mary knew she would just be content to look at him, though he managed to drudge up something to say anyway.

"How was school today?" he wanted to know. "Your mom said you had a reading test."

Something about the phrase 'your mom' was weird for Mary. She realized quickly that it was because she was usually just 'mom.' Marshall didn't typically use 'your' because Mary had become 'mom' to just about everyone as the years had elapsed. It was small, and yet she didn't consider the difference insignificant.

But, if Melissa was thrown, she certainly didn't show it, and hastened to respond.

"I did," referring to the exam. "It was only twenty questions."

"How do you think you did?"

"Miss Newman graded them after lunch. I got them all right," this time, you could see all her teeth with her mouth so stretched, like she was begging for approval. "And she told me – not in front of the other kids, but she still told me – that I was the _only_ one to get the essay question right, because you had to write at least three sentences, and some people didn't do that."

"Ahead of the game, huh?" Marshall tried out a light laugh. "Good for you. That's great."

"It was easy, but soon – maybe – school won't be so easy anymore, but that's okay, because I want things to get harder…"

He didn't look like he was following her thought process, and Mary wasn't either until the discussion continued.

"What do you mean?" Marshall asked.

"Well, I guess you probably don't remember…" she said this so casually that it was impossible to think she was feigning anything; she really didn't give a damn so long as she could be sitting next to Marshall. "But, you and mom had a meeting with my teacher and the principal, and my teacher said I could go into the gifted program, and I really want to, because you said that I should and I think you're right because…" At this point, she swallowed and took a breath, but never once lost steam. "…Because I want to be challenged – you always say it's better to be _challenged_ than to be bored – and I'm not really bored, but I want to try something really tough…"

"You do, huh?" it was doubtful Marshall could've possibly kept up with this run-on, but he was able to cover it for the most part. "What do you suppose they teach in this gifted class?"

"I don't know," Melissa shrugged, suddenly chattering non-stop now that the man was here to speak to. "But, I know the third graders are already doing multiplication, and I can do some, but only up to sixes; I think. I get them mixed up with sevens sometimes…"

"Who taught you to multiply?"

"You did," utterly nonplussed, the girl filled him in and went right on, Mary a mere shadow in the background. "And to divide, at least a few numbers, since it's just multiplication backwards. But, maybe they do that in the gifted class. Or geography!" the prospects were endless; the blonde had-had no idea so many dreams lived inside of her daughter as far as school was concerned. "We don't do geography at all, but there are so many other continents I want to know about…!"

"Which one?" Marshall seemed relieved that this rapport was so natural; he didn't have to prove or remember anything as long as Missy blathered away. "Personally, I have always been interested in…"

"Australia!" she interrupted with vigor. "Do you know what time it is there right now?"

"Well, I'm not wearing a watch…"

"Mama, what time is it?" Missy demanded, whipping around.

Unsure why this mattered, Mary still did as requested and snuck a peek at her phone.

"It's almost four-thirty, sweets."

"Then it's…" Her eyes journeyed skyward for about two seconds before she declared, "Almost eight-thirty in the morning _tomorrow_ there!"

"Yes, it's a sixteen hour time difference…" Marshall was beginning to goggle, and Mary had to admit, she rather enjoyed the look of incredulity on his face – one of the few things she had enjoyed in the past few days. "Funny how that works…"

"It would be so weird to fly all that way and see what time it is when you get there!" she giggled at the prospect. "But, that's not why I want to learn about it…"

"I should think not, since you already seem to know so much…"

"I want to learn about the Opera House and the koalas and the kangaroos…"

"The Opera House?" now Marshall very clearly couldn't believe his ears, stunned by her wealth of knowledge. To Mary, "As in…the _Sydney_ Opera House?"

"The very same," his wife chortled, almost unable to believe it herself. "Mostly for the architecture, I think. She likes to see how things go together. She loves her dollhouse and, you know, she's been around Mark her whole life; he installs solar panels, so she's seen some construction…"

Melissa didn't seem to hear a word of this, "I like kangaroos better than koalas," she announced. "I like how they jump and carry their babies in their pouch – like a real mom might do. Which do you like better, Marshall? I never asked you."

It was the first time she was giving him a chance to answer, peering expectantly into his wide-eyed face. Whatever Marshall had anticipated Mary's daughter being, the model in front of him was obviously a complete surprise. It was hard to tell, this early in the game, if it was a good surprise or a bad one, but Mary could only hope that with the passage of time that Marshall would look past Melissa's quirks to see how wonderful she was. The man she knew and loved would never even think twice about it.

When he glanced to his wife, as though for help, he was still ogling and not even trying to hide it. She fed him an astute smile, hoping he could read her well enough to know that she was simply asking for him to go with the flow. How could he mess up kangaroos and koalas, anyway?

"Well, I…" he coughed before he could really get started, but Missy remained patient, sitting with her hands folded primly in her lap. "I think…I might have to say kangaroos too…" he found himself agreeing. "Although…I can't imagine giving koalas the brush off, though. So cute, and all."

Melissa's tongue poked between her teeth upon hearing this, and even though she probably knew that the 'real' Marshall would've launched into an encyclopedia's worth of facts about each animal, she still seemed wholly satisfied.

"So…I don't know…" the little one went on, shocking Mary that she could get back on topic so swiftly when they'd veered far from the beaten path. "Maybe they'll have harder math or geography or really long books in the gifted class – or all of it. I don't know; I just know I want to go."

"Sounds to me like you should," Marshall decided on the spot. "A bright girl like you."

At his sanction, Melissa whirled around for a second time to face her mother, who was trying to bask in the scene in front of her without constantly reminding herself what was really going on underneath.

"Mom, Marshall says I should – I told you!" she proclaimed proudly. "So, can't I? Can't you tell Miss Newman I should go? Like, tomorrow?"

Marshall seemed startled by his opinion having so much impact, but Mary was there to simmer things down, to assure him – and her daughter – that nothing was a done deal yet.

"Hold the phone, all right, girly?" she requested. "We'll get it straightened out, but I still need to talk to Mark."

"You said you talked to Mark yesterday!"

"I did, but…"

"So?"

"So, I just want to iron a few things out," she hoped Missy wouldn't ask 'what things' and especially not right now, because she didn't have a logical response. "I need to meet the teacher you'll have in there and sign some forms – you'll have to be patient, but there's plenty of time to get you in there…"

At being told to wait out the days, Melissa pouted and made a noise that sounded like, 'humph.' Mary knew as well as she did why she was so anxious to hit the ground running, and it seemed she felt the need to share it with Marshall as well. Far from being rattled that his memory was so poor, she seemed to be relishing that she could tell him so much about herself and anything else he wanted to know. Just like a little teacher in miniature.

"Miss Newman – my teacher – is really nice," Melissa informed her step-father. "I don't want to leave her room all the time, but I don't like the other kids. I'm _sick_ of them."

This was the most emphatic Mary had heard her on the subject of her classmates, and was about to interject, but Marshall got there first.

"I'm…I'm sure they can't be that bad…"

"Yes, they _can!"_ Missy was emphatic, but not angry, even though her eyes bugged. "All they do is make fun of me – they think I'm a nerd, and all of them have one mom and one dad, so they think I'm a freak since I don't. Plus, they call me a klutz since I'm always tripping all over the place, but it isn't my fault…"

"Melissa, enough," Mary didn't intend to sound harsh, but this was likely too much for Marshall to take in at this juncture. "Let's talk about something else right now…"

But, the younger was not to be deterred, "What for? Marshall doesn't remember, so I'm telling him…"

"He doesn't need to know about you being unbalanced," it was rude to talk about the man like he wasn't even there, but her goal was to get Melissa to close her mouth. "It's not important."

"It is _so_," she spat. "It's 'cause I'm so clumsy that he got hit by that car, so he does need to know!"

This bold announcement was the perfect bait for Mary to draw her daughter in, hook, line, and sinker, and get her to spill the beans on what had occurred in the street right in front of their house. Rationally and fairly, she knew it was unwise to prod her in this moment. Intuition told her to beseech Melissa that the accident wasn't her fault, as she had heard probably a hundred times before now. But, a big part of Mary was feeling very vindicated that she had been right about something. She had been insisting to anyone who would listen that seeing Marshall would have Missy opening the vault. And it had indeed.

And so, instead of backing off, the inspector plowed on, "What are you talking about?"

"I fell down," she broadcasted at once, proving that Stan and so many others had been correct in this assumption. Turning to Marshall, Melissa repeated, "I fell down." And then, back to Mary, "You said that I could try to skate in the road since there were so many twigs and leaves and stuff on the sidewalk, and Marshall was holding my hands…" Again, she reiterated for his benefit, "You were holding my hands."

The man seemed not to have a clue what to make of this sudden assault of information, but surely he couldn't be complaining. He, and everyone else, had been in the dark on all the minute details and here, finally, they were getting some answers.

"He was holding my hands, but I was trying to talk to him, and I wasn't paying attention, and so I fell on top of him and hurt his ankle."

Rapidly, the image of what had become a terrifying scene was coming together. So, that was why Marshall's ankle had suffered a significant amount of damage before the crash. Missy – tiny and willowy though she was – had gone tumbling down on him, heavy skates at all.

"He told me to go inside and get someone because he couldn't stand up, but that was when the truck came…"

Mary didn't need to hear anymore, and was going to tell her child as much, especially hearing the way her voice took on a definite melancholy tone as she contemplated what was coming next. But, she seemed to feel that she had said enough as well, because now she had eyes only for Marshall, and they were round and fearful with worry that he would not understand, that he would not forgive.

"Marshall, I tried to help you – I really-really tried to help you – but you told me to get out of the street!"

Whatever his confusion, however overwhelmed he was, this was the statement that jerked Marshall firmly back into his old mindset, if only for a moment. Watching a little girl – any little girl – beat herself up for something she had no control over was not something he would sit idly by and observe.

"You did the right thing," even without his memory, he could be certain. "Better me than you, Melissa. I'm tough – I made it," he reminded her. "Who knows what would've happened if you hadn't been able to get out of the way?"

Missy wasn't quite satisfied, "I went back to get you, I wanted you to take my hand, but when the truck got so close, I got scared and I jumped onto the sidewalk – that's how I fell and hurt my hands…"

She held up her bandaged palms for him to see, still crisscrossed with a variety of band-aids, but another facet in this story had just caught Mary's ear, and she could not let it go by unnoticed.

"You went back in the road?" she demanded sharply, stepping up to the foot of the bed. "You were safe and you went back in the road," it wasn't a question this time.

Melissa didn't seem the least bit quelled by the hardened look on her mother's face.

"He needed _help!"_ she pressed, as though unable to grasp why everyone was having such a hard time with the concept. "There was no one else there; I had to help him! You would've done it, mama, I know you would have!"

There was something both touching and deeply uncomfortable about knowing that Missy had been in the clear and willingly wandered back into danger. Mary wanted to say that she, herself, was an adult – that she had training to rival most, and so her attempt to pull Marshall to his feet had a bigger likelihood of being successful. But, true as all this was, it didn't seem right to just spit it out.

"I understand…sweets," was what came out her mouth. "I do. I'm sure Marshall does too," raising her eyebrows at him when Melissa turned away again.

And, fortunately, he got the message, "I'm not upset with you at all, Melissa," and although his voice was stilted, his words were sincere. "I may not know exactly what happened, but I know it was an accident. These things happen. It is nobody's fault."

There was a flatter, more mandatory quality to his tone than there might've usually been, but Mary appreciated him speaking up nonetheless. Missy needed to hear from the man himself that he wasn't harboring any resentment toward her. How she could think that he would, a sensitive guy like Marshall, she had no idea, but it was a heavy burden she was carrying, and she needed part of that weight to be lifted.

"Thank-you for saving me, Marshall," she recited in response to his acceptance, wanting to get everything out in the open now that she was here. "I told mom to tell you thanks, but I don't know whether she did…"

Mary hadn't, having forgotten and also considering it unnecessary; it seemed Marshall was of the same mind. Even if he wasn't aware of where their sudden obsession with gratitude had come from, not being able to remember Cassidy, he could still appreciate it.

"Well, it doesn't sound like I did much," humble and chivalrous as ever. "I just told you to get back on the curb or something, right?"

"Yeah…"

"So, it's not as though I threw myself in front of that truck to stop it from hitting you – at least not from what you've told me," he wanted to make it perfectly plain that he hadn't retained the memories on his own. "I told you what to do, and you listened. Near as I can tell, you saved yourself."

This view seemed to bring some of the light back into Melissa's eyes, and although Mary was pretty sure this fixation on being the one to blame wasn't going to end soon, she could at least take comfort in knowing that the sympathetic, gentle soul that was Marshall was still living among them. Missy had been right when she'd said his heart was as pure and gracious as it had ever been. If only his brain could've stayed intact so easily, and their worries could really start dissolving into nothingness.

XXX

**A/N: That Melissa, she's a charmer! ;)**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Not a lot of author's notes on this go around! Just hoping you enjoy! **

XXX

Marshall's astonishment seemed to stay with him even after Mary sent Melissa out to the waiting room, where Jinx had showed up to keep an eye on her and see how everyone was faring. Mary was grateful her mother had been able to come down, because it gave her some time alone with her husband – time where they didn't have to be mindful of what Missy might hear. The woman had often prided herself on being open with her daughter, but in this case, they were definitely entitled to their private thoughts on how to handle everything spinning around them since the accident.

Taking a chance, she seated herself further up on the mattress than she had earlier in the day, more near Marshall's knees. Maybe if he became comfortable enough, she could go even closer, perhaps even gain a hug of her own like the one Melissa had so kindly requested. But, judging by how Marshall had reacted thus far, an embrace from his partner would feel just as foreign to him as every other bit of affection she had bestowed on him. This was a depressing thought, and Mary did her best not to think about it any longer.

"You were fantastic with her…" she didn't intend to start out with such extravagant praise, and yet the tribute came out of her mouth anyway. "I mean, if I hadn't known any better, I'd think this amnesia crap had never happened…"

"I think you're stretching it, Mare," Marshall sighed and shook his head. "I wish I could say something clicked when I saw her – that way back in the recesses of my mind that there was a trigger or a clue…"

"I don't expect that," she broke in earnestly. "I told you – I know you can't work miracles here. I'm just saying, you really played your part…"

"I wasn't trying to play a part," at the note of frustration in his voice, Mary resolved to stop being so flattering, because he obviously didn't want to hear it. Raking his fingers through his hair, "I wasn't trying to trick her or fool her into thinking anything…"

"No, that's not what I meant," Mary corrected herself, doing what she could to calm down, because her beating heart was making her desperate to have Marshall feel better, like he had accomplished something. "I just thought that…watching the two of you…" She shrugged, still chiding herself to settle in. "I mean…it looked natural. It was like nothing was wrong."

"Then I was lucky, I guess," he decided, although bleakly. "Because…the whole thing was just…very odd for me…"

Maybe sympathy was a good tactic to take here, "How so?"

She watched as he continued to tousle his own hair in what appeared to be agitation, his blue eyes scanning the blanket covering his lap. Mary wished more than anything that he would look at her, and that for one moment she would see her dear partner looking back, and not what was fast becoming a stranger. Still though, short of reaching out and tipping his chin upward, she was going to have to wait him out while he sorted through his feelings.

"I…I don't know what it was, exactly…" he confessed finally. And, at admitting he was still slightly clueless, he granted Mary's wish and met her eyes; she saw that his were clouded with doubt. "You said she's…_eight?"_

The female inspector waved aside his disbelief, "Yes. She just turned in August. August eleventh," she added. And then, for good measure, "It's October right now."

What month they were in seemed immaterial to him, because he didn't say anything to his wife's aside. The thing that still seemed to be perplexing him the most was the child's age and Mary wanted to find out why that was.

"So, if she's…eight…" he was calculating something. "She's in…what? Second grade?"

"Yeah, that's right."

He kept wagging his head as he spoke, "She is…I mean…" It was coming in fragments, but he got there eventually, and Mary was not all together surprised to hear what seemed to be ruminating so dizzyingly in his mind. "She is…astoundingly intelligent." Mary knew this, of course, but she never minded hearing it again. "Just the way she carries herself and the way she speaks…" he went on. "I wouldn't expect anything less from your kid, but…"

"Our kid," Mary interrupted quietly, but Marshall ignored her in favor of another confusing aspect he seemed not to have foreseen.

"She's little," he seemed not to realize he was stating the obvious, but if he needed to work through all his insights, she wasn't going to stop him. "If you hadn't told me, I'd have thought she was about four…"

"She is small," Mary agreed. "And her eyesight is awful – hence the glasses. She was born eight weeks premature, so that accounts for a lot of it."

This flummoxed Marshall even further; his eyebrows flew up so high that Mary lost track of them for a moment.

"_Eight_ weeks?" he breathed. "Why? What happened?"

Evidently, he didn't remember all the harried elements she had thrown at him in her desperate attempts to get him back on track the day before, because she had mentioned the fire. Still, that was a conversation best left for another day. Mary had never spoken about it so much in her life, between recounting it to Melissa at bedtime and sharing the grittier aspects with Mark while they had waited during Marshall's surgery. She didn't need to go through it again, nor did Marshall need to be bombarded with something so huge.

"You know, that's a long story…" she did what she could to wave it away for the time being. "I'm not sure that today is…"

"There isn't a short version?"

He seemed so genuinely curious that Mary rethought her decision to keep the blaze locked up inside almost at once. Biting her lip, she considered the most direct way to go about blurting it out and determined she could do just that.

"I was protecting a witness at the elementary school, the cronies after her set the place on fire, I got stuck inside, you rode in on your white horse, resuscitated me, accompanied me to the hospital, and watched Melissa come into the world at thirty-two weeks with practically no lungs to breathe through. End of story."

He seemed to cling to a strange portion of this account, "What…what witness?"

"You wouldn't know," Mary informed him softly. "I think it was probably after…" words failed her, so she was going to have to make her peace with being less than eloquent. "…You know, too far this side of the future…"

"But, who?"

She sighed, wondering how she'd gotten herself into this, "Cassidy Farmer – became Cassidy Ford."

By the way Marshall's eyes skirted back and forth, she could tell that he was straining to bring the little girl to the forefront and could not. But, Mary had been prepared for his failure this time, even though she would never call it as such in front of him.

"It…its okay if you're not sure…" she would even downplay what he was suffering from. "We've had a lot of witnesses," a shaky chuckle. "And, anyway, what really matters is that Melissa survived, even if she is a bit of a pipsqueak." Then, just in case he was in doubt, "I say that with love, you know," a second chuckle escaped, this one even more trembling than the last because the joke sounded so feeble.

But, whether Marshall found any humor in this statement, Mary couldn't have said. Just taking everything in was a full time job, and he had eight years worth of memories to catch up on. The whole thing was so vastly unfair. When the woman thought about all the cherished, treasured times he and Missy had spent together, only to have them be obliterated in one horrifying afternoon, she wanted to rail at anyone who would listen. Sometimes – more often than not, it seemed – bad things really did happen to good people.

"Marshall, you have to know…" maybe the blonde was trying to make up for whatever shortcomings he now possessed – by giving him new things to excel at. "…You just being…_you_…being here, that's enough for Melissa. Did you see her face when she came barreling in here?"

Tentatively, she placed her hand in his lap, which made him start when she flattened the billowy hospital gown he was wearing. The fact that her touch was still so unusual caused Mary a searing pain in her gut, but if they were going to get back where they once were, she was going to have to get past it.

"I mean, the whole reason she wants to go into nerd-central at school is because of you…"

Marshall must've understood that she was referring to the gifted class, because he said, "I don't think that's true," and he sounded suddenly sharp and serious. "A child like her? She's clearly being held back in her peer group; she's craving something more intellectual…"

"Well, I guess, but…"

"I really hope you'll put her in there," he suddenly asserted, which surprised his wife. "I know you. You don't want her lagging behind when she doesn't have to be."

What was a seemingly innocent statement of conviction made Mary's heart sink clear into her stomach. Marshall _did_ know her. He always had, and better than anyone else in her life. But, what he clearly didn't know anymore was how she felt about Missy's already being so different from practically every other child in the second grade. Having a mother and three random men flitting in and out of her house already set her apart. Combine that with her undersized stature, her off-kilter balance, and the fact that she had the brain of a high school student and you might as well hang a sign around her neck proclaiming her eccentricities for all to see.

And, the gifted program, wonderful though it surely was, was just one more thing to separate her from her designated social circle.

"I…I haven't…really decided what to do about that yet," she murmured quietly, her insides squirming because Marshall had sounded so sure about what to do, and it was so far from what she was considering. "There's more to think about than just…what she wants."

Marshall seemed genuinely perplexed by this view, and he suddenly looked like a very little boy who had come up against a bout of bad news that he didn't understand.

"Like what?" he proposed curiously.

"Well…" Mary was definitely starting to feel uncomfortable now; being at opposite ends of the spectrum where the new class was concerned just made her feel so much more distant from her husband, if that was even possible. "It really just…isn't that easy."

"What did Mark say about it?"

"He trusts me to make the right choice."

"And so do I, but don't we both know what the right choice is?"

A nasty, cruel urge that was rearing inside of Mary wanted to shout at him that he was hardly qualified to determine what was right or wrong in this situation. After all, if it hadn't been for the two girls filling him in, he wouldn't have remembered there was a gifted program to speak of. And now he was the higher authority? Mary felt that, frankly, this was condescending of him.

But, luckily, she was able to quench whatever compulsion she had to spit all this out. He was only saying what he was because he thought she was going to agree with him. He wasn't _trying_ to be patronizing. He was trying to help, or else offer his input. It was important not to find fault with that when he was just doing his best to get caught up and contribute.

"Marshall, I…" her voice was as controlled as she could make it when she finally spoke. "I mean…it's like I told you before I brought Melissa here. She's not typical. After seeing her, wouldn't you agree?"

"Of course I would," he asserted at once. "She's exceptional."

"Funny how you can spot that in just a few minutes with her, isn't it?" Mary cast him a half-smile, detouring just slightly from the issue at hand to revel in how remarkable her daughter was. "She doesn't even seem real to me some days, especially since she really had to defy the odds to even survive when she was born."

"I wish I'd been there," the man whispered, almost as though he were ashamed, and Mary was forced to remind him.

"You were there," she kept her tone quiet as well. Recklessly, she reached for his hand and held it in her own, but opted not to squeeze or otherwise encourage him to reciprocate her affections. "I promise you were. Take my word for it…" she was almost mumbling now, as the memory was so emotional for her. "I'd have never gotten through it without you. The whole thing was such a whirlwind, but you were what kept me grounded…"

"I believe you, I just…" he shrugged, and she could feel his palm sweating inside of hers. "You tell me about it, and it's blank," he confessed. "It feels like it must've happened to somebody else. I don't mean to sound insulting, Mary, but it's hard for me to even imagine you letting me anywhere near you when you gave birth…"

"Well, it was a C-section," she offered lamely. "And I was scared shitless. Plus, I think the least I could do after you saved my life was allow you a peek at Melissa showing up."

At this, Marshall cocked his head like a confused, banished puppy that had heard or sensed something unwelcome, or at least something uncertain. The look was a new one on him; it made his eyes narrow, making his angular features sharper and more distinct. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and the stare soon became so pronounced that Mary couldn't stand it any longer.

"What?" a trembling chortle came along with it.

He swallowed, straightening his stance, "It's just…strange."

"What is?"

"Well, the Mary I remember wouldn't ever have admitted that she owed anybody anything. Or even that she just wanted to be generous and return a favor."

There was nothing she could say to this. For as awkward as it made her, the woman began to wish they could go back to discussing Melissa's budding education. This analyzing of her character was a hundred times more prickly for her; it made her feel like Marshall hadn't been as in love with his partner as he'd claimed – that he was using this opportunity to note that she had once been incredibly stand-offish and sarcastic enough to turn him away. Malicious enough that any act of kindness was out of the question.

Evidently, however, he wasn't finished, "But, this Mary would," he concluded.

"Melissa – Missy – changed me, Marshall," there were few other explanations. "And so did you. I feel like I've learned that showing your gratitude isn't so overrated."

"I wish I could remember the transformation."

Mary decided that it would be pointless to be dishonest here, "I wish you could too."

But, inside, she was thinking something different. A transformation? Didn't he believe there had been any good inside of her before the fire? That, overnight, motherhood and marriage had turned her into an entirely new woman? This was irrational, and deep down Mary knew that. But, she'd always thought there was some part of her – even an acidic part – that Marshall adored just the way it was, that had led him to fall in love with her. Now, it sounded like he'd wanted to be with her just to change her, and Mary didn't know what to make of it.

"What I also wish you could remember…" she wanted to get off this subject, and so went back to the original one. "Is everything Melissa has endured the last few years. This dork class is not as black and white as you think, and I know that's not your fault," she didn't want it to look like she was blaming him. "She sticks out like a sore thumb at school; she doesn't have any friends…"

"Perhaps this new class would help her to make some…"

"But, that's not why she wants to go," Mary didn't know this for a fact, but she opted not to correct herself. "She's told me for ages now that she doesn't even need friends. She thinks you and Mark and Stan are her friends, and she's all excited about Brandi's rug rat, so she thinks she's set in that area…"

"So…I mean…?"

"She may not care, but I do. I cannot stand the idea of her being all-but stoned to death on the playground by those immature little brats…"

"Mary…" he sounded disheartened at her harshness, but she kept on.

"And, sending her somewhere that is only going to highlight her differences is just adding fuel to the fire. I have to consider that."

"Is it written somewhere that being different is a bad thing?"

"You try telling that to a bunch of eight-year-olds and see what they say."

Some of her annoyance must've inched its way into her voice, no matter how hard she was trying to put a damper on it, because Marshall looked suddenly taken aback. His bafflement quickly altered into something resembling ignominy, which meant it was Mary's turn to feel a hot wave of guilt. It was likely all of her frustrations with this entire scenario – the principal, the other students, Missy's glaring dissimilarities, the accident, the wounds, Marshall's memory – were beginning to erupt, and if she wasn't careful she was going to end up saying something she regretted.

"I…I really don't have any business thinking I know what's best for Melissa…" the disgrace that trickled from every letter he spoke made Mary sigh, knowing she had caused him to feel as such. "Obviously, I don't have any idea…"

"Marshall, I…"

"I just wanted to look, I don't know…" he shook his head slowly and then let out a sad, soft laugh that held absolutely no humor at all. "Involved, I suppose. Pretend I know what's going on when it's clear I'm clueless…"

"Don't say that," Mary interrupted, sounding irritated with him when really she was irritated with herself that she couldn't put up a better front. "Of course you were trying. It's me that has the problem. I've never been comfortable with Melissa's…" For want of a better term, "Oddities."

When her husband continued to look bewildered, the woman suddenly realized how she had sounded and couldn't clarify quickly enough.

"I mean, I love her exactly the way she is; don't doubt that…"

"I wasn't."

"I've just never been able to adopt the, 'sticks and stones' mentality, if you get my drift." Pressing the issue still further, "Words do hurt," and expanding upon the old adage. "Maybe they don't hurt Melissa, but they hurt me, and I just want to be careful where she's concerned."

"You're her mother. I would expect nothing less."

While Mary could appreciate the compliment, she couldn't be entirely certain if Marshall viewed her behavior as being _too_ cautious. In the recesses of her mind, she realized that his attitude about the little girl's instruction wasn't that big of a shock. He'd been on board since the minute the term 'gifted' was thrown out in that horrific meeting with Regina Hodges and Miss Newman. But, in the task of convincing her of the most logical move, he would've been far more tactful and a lot less blunt prior to the accident. Now, it seemed, his filter for placating Mary was slowly going away.

"I might be her mother…" the blonde reiterated, discovering that she had begun clutching his hand even though he wasn't pressing back. "But, I wasn't the one who planted myself in the path of a roaring pick-up just for her."

It was hard to say what made her bring this up, and the words seemed silly and foreign the minute she spoke them. It was probably just her round-about way of expressing that she had a few things she was feeling accountable for as well, and not being there for Missy in such a crucial time of need was one of them.

Marshall picked up on this at once, "Sounds like she's not the only one who thinks she's to blame for this nightmare."

"You can say that again," a sarcastic scoff. "Since she was born, it's been her and her boys. Once Brandi's kid arrives, that'll just add another male to the brood. And I've let it happen – handing her off when it should've been me all along…"

"I can't imagine that's true, Mary," he insisted, interrupting her, and this time she distinctly felt him grasp her fingers tighter, an act that surged new life into the woman almost at once.

It was like a lightning bolt, and she longed to hold that spark inside for as long as possible, because it was one of the few signs that her Marshall wasn't so far from home after all.

"Unless you've done a complete one-eighty, you're still the best in the business at protecting people, and I doubt that excludes your own daughter."

"Well…" she hunched her shoulders uneasily, not willing to risk too much movement for fear that he would release his hand from hers. "I wouldn't say I'm doing such a bang up job. Until she came to see you, she was all clammed up about the accident. She wouldn't talk about what happened. Today was the first I heard of it."

"I wouldn't think it would be a picnic to relive," Marshall pointed out. "I should probably be counting my blessings that I can't remember it. And, Melissa is awfully young; she seems startlingly well-adjusted for someone who's had to experience something so terrifying…"

"If you saw her at home, I don't think you'd feel that way."

Mary didn't want to discredit her child, but she was recalling the tears and the constant admissions of culpability that Melissa couldn't seem to get out of her head. The female inspector was no psychiatrist and it seemed that Marshall, even in his mangled state, could sense what she was thinking. There was some margin of comfort in that.

"Maybe she needs to speak to somebody…you know…" there was a distinctively tentative note in his voice, knowing how the woman was likely to react at this kind of a suggestion. "…A professional. Shelley or someone."

Mary hadn't forgotten that she'd entertained this very notion herself just a few nights earlier, but she'd never really intended to act on it, not once they knew that Marshall was going to survive. But, somehow, hearing it come out of his mouth made it more of a command than a passing thought. She valued his opinion enough to take him seriously, but that didn't make her anymore eager to call in the big guns and have Missy's thoughts over-scrutinized.

"I thought about it…" she was willing to admit. "But, I don't know if she's that bad off…" she was contradicting what she'd said just five seconds earlier.

"But, this was a trauma, no two ways about it," he was back to that superior tone of his, and Mary tried her damndest not to let it bother her. "You can't know what's going on in her head; the effects will stay with her if…"

"I guess I could give Shelley a call."

Mary didn't really say this because she planned to do it, but to quiet Marshall's hypothesis about how Melissa's brain was going to suffer as a result of seeing him run over. For as much as she loved him, she couldn't stand to have him think he knew better than she did when it came to something this serious. He supposedly didn't remember even a whit of their mutual child, right? So, how could he really know how best to proceed?

And, even though she had emphasized her acceptance of his proposition rather forcefully, he seemed to realize she wasn't being entirely truthful and angling to shut him up.

"Don't do it because I told you to," he switched gears abruptly, suddenly backing off. "Do it because you want to help Melissa."

It was still strange to hear him refer to her by her full name when she had been, since the day she was born, 'Little Missy' in his beautiful, adoring blue eyes.

"I want to help both of you," Mary whispered, her throat suddenly feeling unexpectedly tight. "But, I don't seem to be doing a very good job."

"I don't think there's a right or wrong way to go about this," he saw the wetness sparkling in her orbs, which had grown tired and downcast very quickly. "I think its 'one step at a time.' For all of us."

But, this was not a woman revered for her patience, and if she was going to regain even some semblance of her former life, she was going to have to let Marshall glimpse even the most unflattering portions of her personality.

With a hard gulp, she just wagged her head and hoped that the tough swallow would keep the tears at bay. Slowly, she slipped her hand out of his, resigned to asking for that hug on another day.

"I need the steps to be bigger."

XXX

**A/N: Hope everyone has a great weekend! See you tomorrow!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I am so sorry I am late with the update tonight, friends. It has been a trying evening.**

XXX

"Thanks for coming."

"No problem. Although, I won't pretend I know what this visit is about. You were pretty vague on the phone."

"I guess I thought…it was something that would be better said in person."

Mary felt like she was going through these motions without really realizing how she got from point A to point B. All she knew was that she wanted to do _something_. Something constructive, something that Marshall would approve of, and calling Shelley Finkel was first on her list. If the available options were having Melissa speak to a perfectly nice, albeit calculating woman, or throwing her headfirst into a class full of miniature prodigies, she would choose the former every time. Why she was so resistant to the idea of the gifted program, she probably wouldn't have been able to say, and the reasoning she'd given everyone – about it making Missy still more different – was meager at best. It would only get her so far before someone – probably Mark or Marshall at the first – insisted she make a decision.

And so, late on Saturday morning, Mary was doing everything she could to forget all about the individuals at the elementary school and focus on the, as Marshall had called it, 'trauma' Melissa had suffered. She didn't know what she would do if Shelley came up with some horrifying diagnosis, but at least she would be doing something her husband supported. Their last visit had left her strangely unsettled; they hadn't seem to agree on anything and, no matter how unintentional, he'd upset her when he'd been so startled by the drastic change in her personality.

As she allowed Shelley over the threshold and into her house, she reminded herself many times over that there was no reason to be nervous. Missy was very personable; she could talk to anyone like they were an old friend. There wasn't a shy bone in her body. If they were lucky, she wouldn't even realize she was being evaluated, but simply believe she was catching up with a former acquaintance of her mother and step-father.

"I said I didn't really know what this was about…" Shelley began, her dark eyes darting over her shoulder and following Mary as she strode behind her into the living room. "But, I think I have a pretty good guess."

"What do you mean?" Mary asked.

"Well, word gets around," the other woman continued in that same matter-of-fact tone she always used, pausing in front of the sofa. "From department-to-department, you know."

"And?"

"I heard about Marshall's accident," she revealed, pitching her voice lower, perhaps so she could sound graver and more in tune to what Mary might be feeling. "How is he?"

Mary raked her fingers through her hair, blowing out with a long puff of air, preparing herself for the fact that this visit was going to include her rehashing the same old topics. She would have to belabor all the points yet again to get Shelley up to speed so she could help Melissa.

"He's doing okay," she said, trying not to look too agitated about having to repeat herself to the new party. There was at least one facet that had only come about recently, and she could center on that. "They may move him out of the ICU today. He's been there for three days – well, since he was admitted on Wednesday."

"Sounds promising," Shelley assumed. "If he was in Intensive Care, he must've been in pretty bad shape."

"Better now than he was," Mary nodded. "His right leg has taken a beating – broken tibia, sprained ankle – and he had some gnarly chest lacerations, but…" she shrugged. "He's healing up really well. Except for…"

She impeded her run-down with an unnecessary lapse, and Shelley tilted her head to one side, as though straining her ears for something she might've missed. When Mary didn't go on, she nudged her forward, intuition telling her that the 'except' was the reason she had been brought to the inspector's home on a weekend.

"Except for what?"

Mary hadn't meant to go to the grittiest part so quickly, which was why she'd stopped herself. It felt indecent or obscene to cut to the chase that way, even though she'd tried to sunny it up first by highlighting Marshall's progress. Still, there was no getting around the truth, and she'd never been a fan of hem-and-haw. She might as well say it while they were right in the thick of things.

"He has amnesia."

This sounded so foolish to Mary, so stark and bold, that she couldn't help herself from adding a sardonic comment.

"Just like a romantic lunkhead out of some cheesy ass soap opera," her voice was dark and brooding. "Minus the lunkhead part, I guess."

"What's he forgotten?"

"Everything from the last eight years," she murmured, crossing her arms over her chest, as though to keep Finkel and her questions at bay. "Our marriage, our child – my child, whatever – all of it. I look at him and…even though he knows who I am and he cares about me…" It was the first time she had admitted this out loud, "He's not Marshall anymore. He's like a ghost or a shell of who he used to be."

Before inquiring about what she could do in this situation, Shelley exhaled slowly and dropped her purse on the couch, which told Mary she would be staying whether she could be of any assistance or not.

"That's rough, Mary," she acknowledged, but still keeping her distance, for the other woman's steely stance didn't invite affection. "What do the doctors say? Will he improve with time?"

"They don't know," the blonde replied. "Maybe. But, it'll be slow and in chunks, they think…"

"A 'wait and see' situation," Shelley realized. "The worst kind."

"I'll say," Mary chortled forebodingly, and opted to leave it there, to hold out for Shelley to ask the remainder of her questions.

She was a little puzzled that she wasn't asking for details about the accident, but perhaps she had already been clued in. Depending on who had told her about it, she could've been entirely up to speed. If it had been Eleanor or Stan, the two most likely of possibilities, there was no need for her to probe further. The two inspectors saw Shelley only sporadically when she was brought in to aide with a troubled witness, and so she knew the minimum when it came to their convoluted family. The existence of Melissa and the pair of them having tied the knot was about the extent of her knowledge.

"I wouldn't be surprised if you were looking for someone to help you sort out your feelings," Finkel was swift once Mary went silent, but she had made an incorrect assumption. "It's very practical of you, actually, and if you want to set up some sessions, I'm happy to…"

"No…no…" Mary interjected, holding up a hand before she could get any further. "That's not why I brought you here."

"Then…why?"

"I want you to talk to my daughter. Melissa."

Shelley couldn't be all that thrown by the fact that Mary didn't believe she personally needed therapy. She had made her distaste of it very known when they'd been forced into sessions after her abduction. But, her request to have Missy all-but studied was, apparently, somewhat startling. By the way the brunette's eyebrows rose, this wasn't at all what she'd been expecting.

"I'm…not exactly well-versed in child psychiatry, Mary; it's a different medium…"

"I don't care," she butted in. "You're the only one I trust with her, and I want to know that she's okay."

"Well, but…" Shelley still seemed baffled, and wanted to get a handle on things. "Okay, how? Is she struggling with having Marshall in the hospital and being unable to remember…?"

"She saw him get hit," another staggering statement. "She was there. They were roller skating in the street, she fell on him, he couldn't get up, and was hit head-on by a pick-up truck while she managed to make it to the curb."

"Oh my God…"

"Yeah, tell me about it," Mary didn't want to dwell on that for long. "And now, he doesn't even know who she is. I haven't the faintest idea how Melissa is dealing, but if she's going to start cracking up over this, I'd like to know it sooner rather than later."

"Mary, my job is hardly that of a mind-reader," Shelley interjected, and it made the mentioned faintly annoyed that she was shying away from what the inspector considered a professional duty. "One talk with Melissa isn't going to solve anything…"

"I didn't say that!" her voice rose in no time flat to a full-blown shout, and it was all she could do not to bang on the coffee table nearby. "I just said speak to her! Surely you're smart enough to know if she's going to come apart sometime in the near future!"

Shelley appeared intrigued by her sudden outburst and quirked her eyebrows for a second time. Mary almost thought she saw her fingers twitching toward her purse, where she undoubtedly had a trusty pad and pencil to write down this sort of outlandish behavior. But, Mary couldn't care less about herself. She was used to feeling like she couldn't land both feet on the ground, like she was caught in a constant hurricane. She had been through too many upheavals not to recognize the sensation. But, Melissa was young. And, if Marshall thought she needed a shrink, then a shrink was what she was going to get.

Breathing rather hard for someone who hadn't exactly run a mile, Mary bored into the psychiatrist's face, wondering if sheer stubbornness could get her what she wanted.

"Mary…" the brunette was articulating in a very deliberate way, even and steady, probably in hopes that the other woman would follow suit. "It isn't a question of my intelligence, but my training. I deal with adults, and I specialize in trauma…"

Mary had never been so morbidly pleased to hear that word, because it meant they were running on the same wavelength whether Shelley knew it or not.

"But, that's what this is!" she exploded, less angrily and more hungrily. "That's what she's been through! Please…Shelley…" if she had to revert to begging, she would really lose it, and she wanted to appear nonchalant in front of her daughter. "I am…I hardly know who I am anymore. Marshall has me so backwards…" bearing her soul wasn't what she'd had in mind, but if it got the job done, then she would do it. "Melissa needs a mother that can help her, and that's not me right now."

Shelley, although often so composed, was looking suddenly lenient, her eyes straying from Mary's as she fought to hold her ground, but rapidly lost the battle.

One last appeal from the inspector, "Please…"

In the quiet that shrouded them while Shelley conceded defeat, Mary reflected how much Marshall had liked her. He'd even tried going on a date with her before her weepy ex-boyfriend had called halfway through their coffee rendezvous. With a fleeting pang of jealousy, the wife began to wonder if he would give the psychiatrist another go since he couldn't even bear in mind that he was married. They were all-but starting over, so why not add a girlfriend to the mix as well?

The very thought was enough to send chills up Mary's spine, and she chastised herself for thinking so poorly of Marshall. It was a good thing Shelley was busy working out how to confess more uncertainties about counseling Melissa, because she didn't notice the blonde's nervousness.

"Is Melissa here?"

This was as good as a 'yes' for Mary, who snapped out of it at once.

"She's in her room…I'll go get her…"

And she was ready to bolt down the hall before Shelley threw out a hand and stopped her.

"Hang on," she prefaced, still looking wary. "I want to make this perfectly clear. I am not guaranteeing anything. I'll have a chat with her, but that's it…"

"Sure, whatever…"

"I'm not a miracle worker, Mary."

"As if I ever believed in miracles."

"And, I want to talk to her where she's comfortable, so if she's playing in her room, I'll just go back with you and speak with her there," it was obvious she intended to dictate the terms of the meeting, and Mary was going to have to bow to her judgment. "I don't want it to be a sit-down thing; it may make her suspicions, which means she might hold back…"

Mary immediately saw the advantage to being casual and bobbed her head almost manically, barely halting her movements so that she wouldn't drag Finkel by her elbow back to the bedroom.

"If that's what you want, then fine," she agreed. "She's down the hall, so let's go."

Still looking as though this was completely against her code of ethics, Shelley still allowed Mary to guide her back to the little girl's bedroom where the door was open barely a crack. Mary just managed to stop herself from placing stipulations on what she said or did, much as she'd done with Brandi before they'd entered Marshall's hospital room. It was the first – and hopefully only – time that she knew the second individual in the room was smarter than she was when it came to the issue at hand. If Mary was going to demand Shelley analyze Melissa for all she was worth, then she wasn't going to be able to let her opinions get in the way.

And so, the mother knocked softly, but didn't wait for a response before pushing open the door, Shelley following closely behind.

Missy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the contents of her dollhouse strewn all around her, but with each of the three pieces firmly snapped together so it formed one giant home. Her hair, which Mary hadn't bothered to style, fell in blonde waves just below her shoulders, lumped in places from its usual ponytail. The overalls she so dearly cherished resided on her frame, a blue and red striped T-shirt underneath the bib. She looked up when she saw Mary, but didn't initiate conversation.

"Hey, sweets."

"Hi…" she managed to throw her a smile even amidst her busyness with her figurines and furniture. And then, spotting Shelley, she offered the same. "Hi."

"Hello…" the psychiatrist got on board quickly, perhaps melding into her element, for which Mary was grateful. "That's quite a dollhouse you have there."

"Jinx gave it to me."

"My mom," Mary whispered as an aside, and Shelley nodded her understanding. Raising her voice to normal speaking level, the blonde goose-stepped her way into the room, trying not to tread on all the pieces of plastic adorning the carpet. "Hey, listen to me for a second, girly…"

Reluctantly, Melissa did put her toys aside and blinked expectantly up at her mother, considering Shelley a mere afterthought. It was probably better that way. If she got wind of who she really was or why she was there, it was like Shelley had said, a wall would go up.

"This is Shelley; she's a friend of mine from work."

Mention of the Marshal Service got Melissa's true attention for the first time. Mary didn't know what was so interesting about it, as she'd grown up with it all her life, but was about to find out easily.

"If you work with mom, do you know Marshall?"

"I do," Shelley nodded.

"And Stan?"

"Stan too," she confirmed. "I pop in from time-to-time to say hello. I just thought I would drop in today since I heard that Marshall's laid up – wanted to see how your mom was doing."

This was a good lie, Mary thought, and very believable. Missy certainly seemed to think so, but didn't offer anything in the nature of her step-father, which was just as well since Shelley didn't need the details a second time. Because of this, the inspector hastened to get on with the show, not wanting to waste anymore time lest Shelley change her mind about the chit-chat.

"Since she was nice enough to stop by, I thought it was about time she met you," Mary fabricated, tripping over her words since she was so anxious for things to begin. "I saw how she had her eye on your dollhouse – give her a peek."

"You mind if I see?" Shelley contributed.

Missy shrugged, "Sure…" and inched to one side to make room, scattering a few dolls and a host of miniature tables and chairs further toward the wall.

Shelley had some difficulty seating herself on the ground, as she was wearing a pencil skirt and had to tuck her legs underneath her and somewhat askance, but she got there in the end. Mary, in her jeans, had no trouble, and plopped herself on Melissa's opposite side, working hard to simply be a spectator. If she left the room, it would raise a red flag in her daughter's very astute mind.

Once they were settled, Mary admired the fact that the brunette appeared not to hesitate when striking up conversation. No doubt she wanted to get this over with as fast as possible, but it didn't matter to Mary how quick the pace was so long as they got the job done.

"It's Melissa, right?"

"Mmm hmm…" the little girl hummed absently, gathering a few of her doll's beds and placing them in the appropriate rooms.

"Do most people call you Melissa, or do you like Missy?"

"I don't care," she replied offhandedly. But, at the mention of nicknames, she did meet Shelley's eyes with a cute, coy half-smile. "Mom calls me Melissa. Marshall calls me Little Missy. Mark calls me Missy Jean. Stan calls me Captain, and Brandi calls me Thumbelina, but only sometimes. You can pick one." This was not all together unexpected, until, "Except Little Missy."

Shelley raised her lids to Mary's upon hearing this, and neither was able to keep the surprise off their faces, Mary in particular. Shelley, however, played it cool.

"You don't like Little Missy?"

"I do. But, only Marshall calls me that. Nobody else," she went back to fiddling in one of the upstairs bedrooms.

"Why's that?"

"Because that's what he called me before I even had a name. He came up with it, so he's the only one who gets to use it."

This was completely new to Mary, who hoped her daughter wouldn't glance at her in this moment, because she didn't know how her puzzlement was materializing on her face. Fortunately, she kept herself firmly focused on her arranging and Shelley took this as a cue to leave the issue of names in the rearview.

"Well, I will remember that," she declared without the slightest hint that she was offended. "You said Jinx gave you this cool dollhouse, huh? Is she your grandmother?"

"She's mom's mom," Melissa corrected, proving that the use of titles was lost on her. "Mom has a dad too, but he's gone 'cause he's an idiot."

"Melissa," Mary interjected sharply, all resolve to keep quiet evaporating at once. The comment wasn't hurtful, not really, but something about it stung just the same. "Don't call people names, come on…"

"Well, he is," she didn't seem at all abashed and threw her mother a scathing look, as though she was being preposterous on purpose. "He was a bank robber, and that's stupid. _And_, it was even _more_ stupid that he just left you to take care of Brandi. How dumb did he have to be to think that you could take care of Brandi when you were only seven?"

So far, this was not going at all like Mary had expected, and her disorientation must've shown on her face because Shelley held up a hand to keep her from engaging in any sort of argument. After all, she knew about the perils Mary had suffered with James. It had been a most illuminating topic of conversation for her during their original sessions so many years previously.

"You know, I met Brandi once," the more rational of the two took a different tack, sidestepping James almost effortlessly and harking back to the one instance she had laid eyes on the younger Shannon. "I liked her. Do you see a lot of her?"

"All the time," Missy revealed. "She comes over almost every day – Peter doesn't always come with her."

"Who's Peter?"

"He's married to Brandi. They're having a baby really soon."

"That's exciting," Shelley decided. "A boy or a girl?"

"A boy," Missy went on. "I _love_ boys. They're nicer than girls."

"You think so?"

"Yeah. Like, the boys at school. They kind of ignore me, but at least they don't make fun of me. And, Marshall and Mark and Stan are all boys and they're my best friends."

"Really?"

"Mmm hmm. So, I'm glad Brandi's having a boy, even though I bet if it was a girl it wouldn't be like the girls at school since Brandi isn't like most girls. She's kind. Like mom."

Mary felt an involuntary blush rise in her cheeks, mostly because she was almost one hundred percent certain no other human being on earth had ever called her 'kind.' Unconditional love clearly ran like water through Missy's veins, a trait no doubt instilled in her by Marshall. Or, by the old Marshall, at the very least.

And, for all of Shelley's reluctance about beginning this discussion, she was clearly intrigued now. Melissa had given up a lot in such a short space of time, and she seemed anxious for more clues. It was too bad she hadn't brought her legal pad with her, but even if she had, taking notes on everything Missy said would've been a bit of a giveaway.

"This is my Brandi doll…" like Shelley, Melissa seemed to keen to keep on now that she'd gotten started. "Here…"

As though from nowhere, she presented the visitor with the blonde bombshell with the enormous boobs. The little plastic woman wore tiny denim shorts and a pink tank-top, both held in place with Velcro. Her hair was still in its original ponytail, held in place with a thin, clear rubber band.

"Hmm…this looks like a Barbie," Shelley observed, palming the toy.

"Yeah, but I pretend its Brandi," Missy shrugged. "She kind of dressed like Barbie before she got bigger from the baby."

Mary suppressed a snort with great difficulty. It was true that her sister wasn't known for donning a plethora of clothes, especially in the summer when she had clearance to run around practically naked by the pool. Dimly, she wondered if Brandi was aware of how she looked in Melissa's eyes, and that a Barbie was representing her in the Shannon-Mann-Stuber-Alpert-McQueen Mansion.

"And, who is this?" Shelley inquired, picking up a small wooden man with a baseball hat fixed firmly to his head.

"Stan," Melissa responded promptly and, with a grin, she took him and placed him next to her plastic police car. "He's _zooming_ through town to get to the hospital – all the lights are green and everybody gets out of the way for him…"

She entertained them for a moment with realistic siren noises, motoring the car all over the carpet, leaving 'Stan' behind since he didn't actually fit inside.

"Why is Stan going to the hospital?" Shelley was pretty good at playing the game; at giving Missy the opportunity to educate her on the world of make believe.

"He's going to see Marshall!" she squealed, bringing the vehicle to a halt beside the ambulance, which she was still using as a makeshift hospital. Snatching up the scientist-looking figurine that represented her step-father, she collected 'Stan' once more and knocked them together. "I always make sure Marshall has a visitor…" and she placed them delicately side-by-side.

"That's a good idea," Shelley informed her. "I know I would get lonely if I were in the hospital all by myself."

"Mark was visiting him, but he'll leave now since Stan is there…"

The squat, Fisher Price form of Mary's ex-husband was removed and placed, to her surprise, beside the doll that she knew represented herself, which at the moment was sitting in the living room of the dollhouse. Shelley seemed to notice something about his development, something that Mary was undoubtedly missing, and she nudged herself closer to Melissa, the better to see what she was doing.

"Well, how come both Mark and Stan can't stay with Marshall? A trio of men like that; they'd have a great time…"

Melissa managed a giggle, but shook her head, "Someone has to be here with mom. I don't want her to be alone either."

There was no room for the blonde to be touched, because she was too busy listening.

"Isn't Brandi here? And, is this Jinx?" she picked up the ballerina toy.

"Yeah…" but, this didn't seem to fulfill what Melissa was really hunting. "But, mom doesn't really talk to Jinx and Brandi like she does Mark. She tells him a lot more – like the truth. Don't you, mom?" she turned from her cross-legged position to find a Mary that was caught off guard looking back at her.

In order to further this conversation, Mary was willing to admit to her method of isolating herself, even though she was displeased to find that Melissa had picked up on it.

"There are some things I keep to myself," she said shortly. "But, Mark can weasel stuff out of me if Marshall's not around."

"And, since Marshall can't remember anything, she needs someone with her until he's back home."

"That's pretty considerate of you," Shelley told her as though nothing strange had been uttered. "You know, I'm noticing something about these dolls," she shook the one with the painted-on tutu for emphasis. "None of them are the same – they don't match. They're all different."

It was true that most dollhouses came with a set of statues that resembled one another – typically a mother, father, brother, sister, and baby, if Mary's memory served her. But, that didn't mirror Melissa's home life, and so it wasn't so peculiar for her to have a hodge podge of models that fit her and her alone.

"I wouldn't like them if they were all the same," Missy wrinkled her nose at the very idea, a look that made her resemble her mother so very strongly, minus the glasses. "That's boring."

"Yeah? How come?"

"Well…Marshall always says…" she paused to make sure everything was in its place, turning away from Shelley and speaking almost on auto-pilot, seemingly forgetting that 'always' had transformed overnight into 'never.' "…That, the world would be so dull if everyone liked the same things – if everybody looked the same and acted the same…"

With this lapse, she began rummaging in a nearby shoebox that contained cast-offs – broken cars, tiny people she didn't deem worthy of her imagination. Mary watched her pull out an ugly plastic baby with most of its blonde hair rubbed off. She forced it into the arms of Barbie-Brandi, trying the future on for size.

"…And, I think he's right, so that's why I like my dolls to be different – like real people."

Shelley bobbed her head knowingly, even though Melissa wasn't looking at her. However, it was as if she sensed that her analyzer wasn't grasping the most obvious piece of the puzzle, because she took her eyes off her handiwork and tilted her head to one side. The gesture made her appear the tiny adult she really was sometimes and Mary found herself hoping that, for the first time, she would just go back to being a kid.

And, as if her wish was being granted, the next words that dribbled out of her daughter's mouth proved she _was_ just an eight-year-old – an eight-year-old with incredible confidence in those she loved, no matter how many hindrances they suffered.

"Did you know that Marshall is right about almost _everything?"_

She was so painfully sure that the sweetness became overpowering, and Shelley smiled, first at her, and then at Mary. The latter wanted to find the same amount of joy in this declaration as she always had before, and yet something about it made her improbably sad.

But Shelley, who had no such worries and confusion tied to her, just took Missy as seriously as she could, still with that fond smile etched upon her face.

"I didn't know that," she said it so plainly that Mary couldn't help but appreciate it. "Thanks for telling me, Melissa."

XXX

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed Shelley's appearance. Thanks for the reviews.**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thank-you so much to those of you who are kind enough to hang with this story. I appreciate it more than you know.**

XXX

It was hard for Mary to reconcile, as she watched Shelley play pretend Melissa, that the psychiatrist could uncover anything when she asked so few questions about Marshall's accident. Like any shrink, Mary supposed, she figured she could glean more just by finding out as much as she could about Missy herself. Secretly, she did not agree with this logic, but she wasn't the professional in such an area. The most Shelley had done was inquire if Melissa had been to see Marshall and how the visit had gone. Melissa had given minimal responses, not without a grin or two here and there, and that was the extent of it. If her mother was expecting a full-blown diagnosis by the end of the morning, she had the feeling she was going to be sorely disappointed.

And, with her daughter still happily lost in her imagination in her bedroom, Mary faced Shelley from the kitchen-side of the outside counter, the latter planted firmly opposite. Both had their hands splayed on the surface, Mary all-but boring into the other's eyes, ravenous for any sort of information she could get. She was on the hunt for some sort of concrete proof of something, and she didn't even care what. Things had been so hectic and hazy lately that anything firm and fixed would be a blessing. She just wasn't sure Shelley would be able to give that to her.

"So?" the blonde bombarded her without preamble, only impeded by attempting to be a good hostess and offer Shelley a drink. When she'd declined, she'd gone in for the kill without a second thought. "What do you think? Do you think she's okay?"

Shelley heaved what Mary considered a wholly melodramatic sigh, "First things first, Mary…" there was that superior tone the inspector hated so much, the one she had come to dread in Marshall. "I'd stop thinking of Melissa as 'okay' or 'not okay.' I think it's pretty clear that anybody who has witnessed an event the likes of which she has is going to take awhile to become 'okay' or even close to it."

"Right-right…" Mary prattled with obvious impatience. "But, come on. You know what I mean. Is she going to start freaking out when I least expect it? Because, frankly, this aloofness that's been coming from her since she learned Marshall was going to survive is creepy…"

"It is unusual, I will admit, but…"

"Unusual how?" the taller interrupted, eyeing Shelley beadily, but all her cutthroat manner earned her was another exhale.

"You asked for my opinion, didn't you?" Shelley wanted to know with a touch of exasperation.

"Of course I did…"

"So, can I give it without you butting in?"

Mary wasn't used to being spoken to in this manner by anyone but Marshall. Even Mark and Stan didn't usually have the nerve. But, that was one of the things that had always ruffled Mary's feathers about Shelley. She didn't take any crap and was fairly no-holds-barred in a couth, straightforward sort of way. Not unlike Eleanor, minus the flowered skirt and up 'do.

Settling for a glare, she nodded at the brunette, inviting her to go on.

This gave Shelley clearance to begin again, "I can't speak to how Melissa is going to react in the days to come. I don't have enough information regarding the accident, and I wasn't game for upsetting her just so I could come to any kind of verdict…"

"I appreciate that," Mary wanted to prove she could disrupt with a compliment; it wasn't always to question or needle another person. "But…so…what did you find out just from talking to her?"

"I just wanted to get a feel for her temperament and her personality, and then I can put together a sketchy picture of how I think she'll handle whatever impending turmoil to come."

Oddly, this made sense to the inspector, who usually didn't think very highly of mental health care professionals. It was really the best she could hope for when she'd given Shelley such short notice. Rather than belabor the finer points of the wreck, she was going to work with the intricacies of the little girl and base any assumptions or conclusions on who she was as a person, not a victim of a single, appalling event.

Figuring that she'd been patient long enough, that she was showing some sort of approval for Shelley's methods, Mary decided it might be safe to speak again.

"What do you think you've found out?"

Bracing herself for the worst probably wasn't very optimistic, but Mary had being doing as such since she was seven years old. It was an ingrained habit that was very hard to break. Focusing on Shelley's facial expressions, she saw a look that was something between shrewd and bewildered – dark eyes narrowed, brows hunched in the middle, head cocked to one side. It was a gesture of insight, as far as Mary as concerned, and the fact that her partner in crime here had any sort of hunches to offer was encouraging.

"She is an interesting girl, Mary."

This was not as unsettling as she'd anticipated, but it was atypical. When it came to Missy, people constantly spewed the same two remarks – one or the other or both. Either that she was wildly intelligent or impossibly tiny. Mary had never heard those attributes being described as 'interesting' and hastened for more details.

"Interesting how?"

"Well, from a professional standpoint, she is a psychiatrist's dream," Shelley chuckled. "You'll never once hear her illustrated as boring, not at this age. There is so much to probe there…"

"And?" Mary was getting over-eager again.

"I'll tell you what struck me almost instantly; at least once I sat on the floor and started speaking to her…"

"What?"

"Her brain may be light years ahead, but her heart is a little girl's. She is still a child on the inside, and I can't tell you how relieved I was to discover that, especially once I noticed how bright she was."

"Why is that?"

"Often, children who are so intellectual have difficulties relating to their peers…"

"You can say that again…"

"But, while I foresee bumps with her classmates – due in no small part to what she told me regarding how she's treated at school – her compassion and her kindness is unparalleled."

"How could you tell?" Mary was not only curious now, but vastly engrossed. These were all things she had forever known about Missy, and yet never stopped to pick them apart the way that Shelley was. "What did you get just from…?"

"Her concern for you, just to get the ball rolling."

The blonde had been afraid she was going to say something like that. Not for the first time that day, she felt her cheeks go red. Personally, she was convinced Melissa had seemed worried about her purely because of Marshall's accident and for no other reason. Anyone who was around the eight-year-old for even a nanosecond could tell that she'd long since sold her soul to the boys. She had-had all three of them wrapped around her finger since before she could even move her limbs. Mary was, and always had been, external.

Shelley must've been able to tell what she was thinking and, knowing what she did about their unconventional home life, didn't hesitate to go on.

"Mary, she loves you. I don't think there's any doubt in her mind that, without you, there would be no Marshall, Mark, and Stan in her life – at least not in such an enormous capacity."

An indistinguishable mumbling was all Mary could manage, but this just gave Shelley the opportunity to continue even further.

"The dolls are very telling. Each one representing a member of her family speaks volumes. You and the guys and your sister and your mom – that is her whole world. And, if I will give you one piece of advice, free of charge…"

This got Mary's attention, because her head snapped up. Either at the word 'advice' or 'free' it was hard to say, but she had been waiting for guidance and here was her chance.

"…You will be doing her so many favors by keeping her unit in tact…" Mary didn't have to ask what she meant by 'unit.' "Marshall is a separate issue – nobody knows what's going to happen down the road. But, holding everyone else together for her when Marshall's situation is so uncertain will make things a lot smoother…"

For some reason, Mary felt the need to pipe up here, "Sometimes, I don't think anything about this crew of ours is 'smooth…'"

Shelley's response startled her, "Mary, you need to get over that."

She blinked rapidly, surprised by the sharpness in the other woman's tone, and actually took a step back, like perhaps she expected Shelley to hit her if she didn't listen to such a serious warning. It was possible that being confused about Shelley's prior statement was what was keeping her from being offended right away.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, I get that the way you've raised Melissa isn't what most people would consider 'normal,'" her voice was steady, but almost grave. "It wasn't 'normal' for you – it isn't 'normal' for the twenty other kids in her class. But, it _is_ normal for Melissa. It's all she knows. Acting like there's something wrong with it all of a sudden will only cause problems…"

"I _don't_ think there's anything wrong with it!" the blonde couldn't keep from defending herself. "It's the close-minded douche bags out there!" she gestured beyond, indicating the world outside her four walls. "_They're_ the ones who judge! Not me!"

To her great annoyance, Shelley did not even flinch when she started yelling. Mary was used to being able to scare people when she got angry enough – all you had to do was take one look at her to know she was really a lion masquerading as a woman. She was beastly when agitated, and the fact that Shelley remained unfazed meant she didn't have the upper hand. Shouting herself hoarse would only make her look defensive.

"Do I _act_ like I'm ashamed of the way we live?" although her voice was still biting, she managed to lower it momentarily. "Huh?" goading, like a juvenile. "Would I have allowed it for the past eight years if I were embarrassed?"

Fortunately, Shelley chose not to speak in any sort of code language designed to get Mary to analyze her own feelings and instead went straight for her individual beliefs. That was what the inspector had wanted in the first place, after all.

"Deep down, underneath…" the brunette gave a noncommittal shrug. "In your heart of hearts, I absolutely do not think you're embarrassed – not for yourself or Melissa."

"But?" she knew it was coming.

"But, I think your desire to see Melissa fit in clouds your true feelings. The very act of acknowledging on a regular basis that she is not from the same mold as her peers highlights her unique situation. Whether you want her to feel like an outcast, I doubt…"

"You better," Mary interjected purely so she could still feel like she had skin in this game, that she wasn't losing her footing so rapidly.

"But, it plants the idea in her head, at the very least," Shelley barreled on as if the other woman hadn't said a word. "Don't you think she should see her life as being special, not a reason to alienate her from the rest of the world?"

This gave Mary pause and she drummed her fingers on the countertop, ready to rail at Shelley again if she felt the need, but something else was invading the desire to throttle her. Whatever the psychiatrist's claims that it needed to be pummeled into her daughter that 'different equals good' Mary didn't think it was as essential as it was being made out to be. After all, Shelley had been in the bedroom. She'd heard Melissa's explanations about why her dolls came from all walks of life and how that applied to the human race as well.

"Call me crazy, but I'm pretty sure she has that figured out already," the blonde whispered. "Until recently, the ankle biters in her class weren't even a blip on her radar. She couldn't have cared less what they thought…"

"Well, her universe has had a definite shake-up," Shelley explained, something Mary didn't need to be told twice. "Insecurity may be new for her, but Marshall's accident definitely could've sparked feelings of vulnerability for her that she's had to deal with for the first time. If she can feel unsure of herself in her own home, that translates to school…"

A nod followed this, Mary feeling grateful that at least some of Melissa's behavior was starting to make sense, even if she did act like Marshall's memory problems were nothing to lose sleep over. Rather than scratch the surface of the little girl's need to blame herself for the accident, Mary decided she'd better address Missy's detachment from the severity of the circumstances while she still could, as it was what really concerned her.

"Well, I'm not asking you read palms or consult Tarot cards or anything…" she began with a joke, and Shelley presented her with a mildly amused half-smile. "But, do you think the fact that my kid doesn't seem to care that Marshall doesn't recognize her is going to end anytime soon?"

"Waiting for the honeymoon to be over, huh?"

"I like to be prepared."

"You'd be better off realizing you can't be when it comes to something like this, but I won't waste my breath on that."

"Good call."

"Let's just say…" Shelley blinked for a moment, seeming to wrack her brains to make sure she got the phrases out just right. "…Don't be surprised by whatever happens. Anger, fear, disappointment, pure, unadulterated sadness…"

"All the good stuff…" Mary got a sarcastic quip in.

"None of it is outside the realm of possibility," the other emphasized. "Children are like adults in that they can trap themselves in denial, but in kids it's a coping mechanism. They do it without conscious thought, which means it can be pretty brutal when reality finally crashes down."

Fully equipped to blurt out another cynical phrase about a potential eruption, but unable to be truly shocked that this was the verdict, Mary simply settled for bobbing her head again. She was an expert when it came to locking her true feelings in a box and it seemed Missy wasn't so bad at it either. What ended up catching her off guard was Shelley's final word, which happened to be an optimistic one.

"The positive thing I take away from her, Mary, is that she is not ignoring what's going on with Marshall. She isn't pretending it hasn't happened, but has decided, rather, that it isn't as bad as it seems."

"How is that positive?" she scrunched her nose.

"Well, small comfort, but the denial isn't as pronounced, which means she won't fall so hard if she eventually breaks down."

On this note, the front door suddenly burst open, shaking Mary from her intent listening so abruptly that she jumped, causing Shelley to do the same. As she was used to people barging into her house without knocking, it shouldn't have surprised her to see Jinx flouncing through, flinging her purse onto the couch and carrying a plastic shopping bag in her free hand.

Shelley shot Mary a quizzical look, but the latter just shook her head to warn her that Jinx was safe, if not entirely welcome. Quickly, she also took a step back because she didn't want to look like she was discussing anything too intimate. If Jinx knew Mary was having Melissa examined by a shrink, she'd never hear the end of it.

"Hello, darling…" the eldest woman greeted her without really stopping to take a look at her surroundings. "How are you?"

Mary decided she would wait until Jinx wanted to be more aware, and when she glanced up from running her fingers through her hair, she finally saw that her daughter was not alone. The younger threw her a grim smile, showing her without saying anything that she was interrupting.

"Oh…" Jinx twittered and put on her most sugary sweet smile, hoping to be forgiven for the intrusion. "I'm sorry, honey; I didn't know you had company…"

"The unfamiliar car in the driveway wasn't a clue?"

"I parked down the block…" Shelley hissed, at which point Mary rolled her eyes.

"Thanks a lot," and with her sarcasm back in full force. Raising her tone to normal speaking level once more, she turned back to Jinx, "Anyway, mom…I guess it doesn't matter; Shelley was just on her way out…"

Shelley herself looked a little taken aback at this, but there really wasn't much else she could say. She had done her job, and if Mary needed any additional tidbits she could always go back to the well. She hoped Marshall would appreciate that she had taken care of the situation so responsibly when she told him about it.

"Shelley, this is my mom – Jinx Shannon…" she gestured between the two, striking up introductions before the inevitable goodbyes.

"Hi…" they shook hands. "Shelley Finkel. Good to meet you…"

"Of course…" but, Jinx was looking distinctly suspicious and Mary decided to nip that in the bud as fast as she could.

"Shelley's a…consultant at the office…" she settled on, which was a slightly different story than she had told Melissa, but hopefully nobody would be fact-checking. "She knows Marshall too, and she heard about everything going on; she thought she'd come by…"

"Oh…isn't that lovely…" Jinx proclaimed, losing a little bit of her glower. To the inspector, "Where's Missy, sweetheart? I brought something for her," she dangled her sack invitingly, even though the little girl was not around to see it.

"She's in her room; I'll get her in a minute…"

She was about to launch into her usual speech about Jinx not spoiling her child, for all the good it would do, but Shelley was slinking toward the door, trying to make an unobtrusive exit. Mary could hardly blame her, as Jinx was enough to send anybody running when she became overly demonstrative. However, calling Melissa soon became unnecessary, because she pattered down the hall, no doubt at the sound of familiar voices, and was soon scooped up by her grandmother, who never lost an opportunity to smother her with kisses.

"Jinx, I rearranged everything in my dollhouse!" she bleated without so much as a 'hello.' "Do you want to see?"

"Oh, I would love to angel…" she gushed, scrunching the aforementioned bag in their embrace but making no move toward the bedroom.

Mary, deducing that the pair of them were sufficiently occupied for a few minutes, dashed after Shelley before she could manage to escape completely. She caught up with her when she was at the door and closed her hand around the knob, stopping the other woman in her tracks. Shelley tossed a look over her shoulder, obviously trying to determine if there was anything she had left out when she had studied Melissa.

Deciding to spare her the trouble, Mary went with the politest farewell she could offer.

"Thank-you again for coming," she murmured, not wanting the other two to overhear. "I'm sure it sounded stupid, me wanting you to have my kid all figured out and fixed in one afternoon, but…"

"But, that's just it," Shelley finished the sentence for her, looking as astute as ever. "She _is_ your kid. Any mom worth their salt wants to take away their pain."

"I guess so," a humble shrug of her shoulders.

"I was happy to try and help, Mary," the brunette claimed. "Promise me, though, that if things take a rocky turn that you won't beat yourself up. I know it's tough to be out of control, but sometimes you have to accept it."

"I'd promise to bear that in mind if I didn't hate it so much."

Shelley chortled, knowing her audience, "Maybe I'll see you soon. Keep me updated on how Marshall's doing – send him my best."

"I will."

And, with that, she allowed the psychiatrist to leave, click-clacking on her heels down the front walk and out of sight to her car around the corner. Left only with her mother and daughter now, Mary closed out the cool gusts of wind billowing in from the crisp October morning. When she made her way back to the living room, she saw that Jinx had presented her granddaughter with whatever had been in the plastic bag. From this vantage point, it looked like some sort of folded cloth. She grew weary at once, knowing Melissa was no clotheshorse and also knowing of Jinx's and Brandi's often futile attempts to gussy her up.

But, when she stepped a little closer, she saw that there was a smile on Missy's face, so whatever her gift was, it couldn't be too bad.

"Mom! See what Jinx got me?"

She held up the fabric, still creased from its folds, and Mary took it, unraveling each portion as she did so. The cloth was khaki colored and soft, and once she had shaken it out she heard the unmistakable sound of faint jingling that could only come from…

"They're overalls, but they're tan!" Missy blurted out, as if her mother couldn't tell at this point. "So, now I have two pairs I can switch between!"

Mary had to admit it was going to be a plus not to have to fight Melissa to wear a different outfit, even if she would still only touch bib-and-buckles. She had the strong suspicion she had already grown out of most of her jeans, as she had long since tucked them in her bottom drawer and refused to put them on. Still though, two outfits were better than one, and Mary had to admire Jinx's selection.

"These are nice, sweets…" she acknowledged. "They'll look good with that orange shirt you have…"

"I hope they fit, darling; this was the smallest size they had…" Jinx's face clouded over with worry as she voiced her concern, but Mary wasn't fussed.

"They'll be fine; she'll grow into them." And then, anxious to see if Jinx had picked up on anything with Shelley around, "Why don't you go try them on so Jinx can see how they look, huh?" she was also thinking this would be a good time to sneak the original pair into the washing machine.

"Okay…" Melissa slipped from Jinx's grasp and took the clothes back from her mother. "Thanks Jinx!"

"Oh, of course, angel."

With her typical benevolence when it came to Missy, Jinx waggled her fingers as the little one traipsed back down the hall, looking perfectly delighted to have something new to wear. But, now that she was gone, Mary didn't see the need to mince words. It wasn't even noon yet, and already she felt tired from the events of the morning. She didn't fancy doing a lot of digging to figure out what Jinx wanted, something she suspected had nothing to do with overalls.

"So…what's up, mom?" she sighed, wandering back into the kitchen and sticking her head in cupboards trying to find something for Melissa to have for lunch. "What brings you by?"

"It's just been a few days…" Jinx gave it up, but Mary distinctly heard her raise her voice over her daughter's unnecessary rummaging. "I wanted to give you some space, but I'm sure it's been a very long forty-eight hours for you…"

It had been longer than that, Mary reflected, when you factored in the time that had elapsed the day of the accident, plus the minutes ticking away at this very moment. Nonetheless, she didn't plan to be a stickler, especially since counting the hours only depressed her.

"How have you been, sweetheart?" she proposed tentatively when Mary didn't answer, face now buried in the fridge.

Mary didn't have the patience for this and slammed the door so that several of the magnets on the surface shuddered.

"How do you think I am?" something about the sit down with Shelley had spiked her ire, even though she had been the one to initiate it.

Fortunately, Jinx didn't seem to have a thought to spare for the mystery visitor, "I would imagine you've been better, dear…"

"Then why did you ask me?"

"Because it's what people do, Mary. I'm your mother," she insisted pointedly. "I worry about you."

This was ironic, as Mary and Shelley had just gotten through discussing what decent parents did when their children's worlds fell apart. Apparently, this wasn't specific to their youth, as here was Jinx, ready to fret over Mary even though she was a grown woman who was perfectly capable of handling herself even if she was crumbling on the inside.

"Missy seemed to be doing so much better when I saw her yesterday," Jinx brought up, reminding Mary of the get together she had arranged between Marshall and her daughter. "Bless her heart…" a tinkling laugh. "She has eyes only for Marshall. I think it's wonderful you took her to see him, honey. It was brave of you."

Mary didn't see how, and the accolade didn't get by her. She could sniff out her mother buttering her up from a mile away, and this was exactly what she was doing. It was what she wanted Mary to engage in that was in obscurity.

"Do you think you can spare me the preamble, mom?" she requested upon realizing this. "Are you sure there's no other reason you dropped by?"

There had to be, especially with the way Jinx began to shift from foot-to-foot, stealing glances down the hall to ensure Melissa wasn't coming back. Mary even abandoned her search of the cabinets to face the older dead on, proving she was ready to listen to whatever Jinx sent speeding down the pike.

All this got her was closer contact with her mother, who stepped further into the kitchen so she was just an arm's length from her daughter. This made her uneasy and she fought not to cross her arms, a definite gesture that said she wished to keep Jinx at a distance.

"I just thought you should know that…" her voice started in a whisper, but rose and sped up when she became more nervous. "…I went to the hospital this morning – me and Brandi. To see Marshall."

Panic bubbled like lava in Mary's stomach and she exclaimed without meaning to, "Is he okay?"

"Yes, sweetheart. He's fine."

Relatively speaking, of course, Mary thought darkly, but at least her alarm began to abate.

"What did you go and see him for, then?"

"He's my son-in-law, Mary," she said this like the mentioned should've known already. "And you know he's like a brother to Brandi. He's our family."

Mary only narrowly avoided sounded overly grumpy, "Right. So?"

"Were you planning to stop in today?" she pressed on.

"I wanted to spend some time with Melissa. Just the two of us. She hasn't had that since the accident."

This was perfectly true, but Jinx must've sensed there was more to the story.

"Because Marshall thinks you're avoiding him."

She was on guard at once, "He told you that?" and she spoke sharply, almost threateningly.

"He did," Jinx seemed pleased that there was no way around the accusation, that Mary couldn't blame her for misreading any signals. "He says you act like you're afraid of him every time you're there…"

"What?!" Mary exploded, all efforts to be rational forgotten, stomping forward so that she was mere inches from Jinx's face, which looked resolute. "Why would he think that?! I'm all over him – he keeps flinching every time I go near him, so I backed off…!"

"Honey…" the mother crooned, and she took advantage of their closer proximity to stroke her child's arm, which she did her best not to pull out of reach. "I know this is difficult for you, but don't shy away from him…he needs you, Mary…"

"He _used_ to need me," she spat menacingly, not knowing she felt as such until it was out in the open. "Past tense. He's not who he used to be."

"Neither one of you are who you used to be," the other spouted philosophically, still doing her rhythmic caressing of Mary's arm. "But, you can't shut yourself in. He's your husband…"

"I'm well aware of that," a cold, curt reply.

"Please tell me you'll go and see him this afternoon. I'll stay with Missy. He misses you."

"You don't think I miss him too?" Mary's voice was growing shrill in her attempt to make her mother understand, and she couldn't fall apart with Melissa in the house. "You don't think I'm doing the best I can when he talks to me like I'm some nobody off the street?"

"I don't doubt that, angel," Jinx murmured theatrically, her green eyes probing the pair that were so very much like her own. "But, I hope you'll keep trying – so you can have a future. For you, and for Melissa."

It was just like Jinx to make it sound so complicated and so epic – exactly what Mary feared it was. She was hardly in the mood to face something so daunting as laid out for her by her mother, even if her intentions were sound. Not only was Mary exercising her very best efforts, so much so it was exhausting her, but she had Missy on her mind twenty-four hours a day, her brain spinning for ideas about how to make this scenario even a little less excruciating.

First Shelley, and now Jinx, had emphasized the importance of holding the family together. There was every reason for Mary to agree with such logic, but at the moment she was longing to scream at everyone that it was far easier said than done.

XXX

**A/N: I threw Jinx in this one because we hadn't seen her since the accident and I didn't want to leave her out!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Wow! The lovely KeiraCassidy left me so many catch-up reviews that I am almost at 100. How wonderful! And, to answer one of your questions, KeiraCassidy (and it was a good one,) you are right in that Marshall has always been portrayed to have been in love with Mary. I am writing from the perspective here that it isn't so much that he's still in love with Abigail, but that he can't equate the current Mary with the one in the past, and so his feelings are a little jumbled. I hopefully explain that at some point if I haven't already, but I can see where it might've been confusing!**

XXX

In spite of the fact that Mary had no interest in doing as either Jinx or Shelley told her, she couldn't deny she was yearning for Marshall when she was apart from him, no matter how hard it was to be around him when there seemed to be blinds drawn in front of his eyes.

Each time she had set up camp at home, it had been with a heavy heart, thinking of her husband in the hospital without anyone to talk to. While this was not entirely true, as he'd had visitors coming and going since he'd been admitted, she was his wife. He'd barely left her side when she'd been in the hospital after giving birth, and she certainly wasn't doing a decent job returning the favor. Telling herself that he didn't want her bombarding him only kept her comfort for so long, and then the guilt for huddling within herself returned once more. Try as she might to deny it, she knew her mother as well as Shelley were right. Nothing was going to change or foster if she didn't persevere.

And so, she took up Jinx's offer to sit with Melissa and journeyed back to the hospital, her daughter's pleas that she tag along ringing in her ears. Even her grandmother's insistence that they could bake cookies and rebuild her solar system model hadn't cheered Missy up. She was distraught being left at home knowing her mother was going to see Marshall, but she'd gone without her anyway.

Upon arriving, Mary discovered at least one bit of good news when she spoke to the receptionist in the ICU. Marshall had indeed been moved out of Intensive Care, as promised, and was now in a regular wing of the hospital. This boosted her spirits slightly, even if it did mean navigating through the elevators more than she would've liked and dealing with a different secretary that seemed all too reluctant to allow her admittance to her husband's room. Only after Mary flashed her badge did she step aside.

There were more people in the main part of the ward than there had been in the ICU, most of them glum-looking, some carrying flowers, which hadn't been permitted in Marshall's former place of residence. Once she located his door, she saw that the space was smaller, but also slightly cozier and more homey, as it wasn't taken up with an abundance of machines. There was a window on the wall opposite the door, mauve-colored curtains pulled back to reveal the sun shining outside, a few clouds floating across the sky. There were also two pictures, both of them pointless, but you couldn't expect more from hospital décor – one, a painting of a sailboat, the other a field of flowers.

But, what surprised Mary most was not the change of location, but the fact that Marshall was not alone once she finally pushed her way inside. Stan and Mark were both there, the latter lounging in a chair with his feet propped on the foot of the bed, her boss rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet as he paced. All three seemed to be having a fairly good time, although she thought Marshall looked fatigued. His cheeks were sunken and covered in bristles, as he hadn't been able to shave in three days. He was going to have quite a beard once he was released.

All these changes aside, Mary managed to hitch a smile into place, the trio turning to face her upon hearing the door creak with her entrance. Remembering what Jinx had said about Marshall thinking she was evading his presence, she decided to start with something courageous, something that would hark back to the days before the accident.

"Hey, it's rock, paper, scissors…"

The reaction she received made her feel like she'd just put herself on display, a spotlight shining harshly in her direction. Fortunately, Mark and Stan both laughed, and while Marshall tried to look like he understood the joke, she saw him glancing from one man to the other to see if he could get a leg up.

"That's a new one…" Stan remarked, ignoring his inspector's glance of confusion. "Do I get to be 'rock?'?"

"You bet," Mary decided on the spot. "Fitting, with all that bald."

"Does that make me 'scissors'?" Mark wanted to know. "Is this a euphemism? I cut things up into pieces?"

"Euphemism is a big word for you," Mary teased. "And, I don't care which one you are. Ask Melissa later. I'm sure she'll have an opinion."

The titles had popped out of her mouth on a whim, as she often referred to the men in terms of threes, usually groups that were unflattering – stooges, French hens, blind mice, little pigs, Billy Goats Gruff, kittens in mittens. French hens were a particular favorite, mostly because it highlighted Marshall's once prominent femininity and fondness for nature. But, the 'rock, paper, scissors' reference was indeed new, and it was apparent the longer Marshall sat there with a bemused half-smile on his face that he wasn't getting it.

Regretting her willingness to jump in with both feet the way she had, Mary swooped down and pecked his cheek, not sticking around long enough to see if he shifted away.

"It's just a…dumb thing I do," she explained. "Make fun of you guys since the three of you are together so much – call you names. You want to be 'paper'?"

She figured this was sufficient, very nearly cringing at how casual she was trying to sound, but she was lucky at this point that Marshall seemed to be getting with the program.

"Paper is as good as any other…" he determined, not sounding as though he especially cared. "How…how are you? I didn't think I'd see you today…"

Mary felt, rather than saw, Mark and Stan trade looks over her shoulder. Forgetting how much it smarted that her husband thought she could be so disloyal, she just shook her head and slipped onto the edge of the bed beside him.

"Yeah, I'm here. Not going anywhere."

And, as if to verify this point, she scooted herself so close to him that she was practically eagle-spread on his torso. Or at least this was how it felt to her, because she was certainly nearer to him now than she'd been since he'd gotten so beat up. She could see at this distance that his bruises had faded to yellow and some of the bandages had been removed from his various cuts, showing thin red lines on forehead.

But, it was apparent that Marshall hadn't expected Mary to cozy up to him. He started to inch away, but caught himself and stayed put. She reminded herself several times over that she was trying to show him how devoted she could be; this was her chance to erase any doubt that she would stick by him. If he'd been uncertain enough to confess anything in that neighborhood to Jinx, she planned to show him she was every bit the wife he deserved.

Mark and Stan didn't seem entirely sure how to react to what might turn into an intimate moment, but it was Mark who recovered first. Stan spent several seconds clearing his throat, likely to get over whatever pangs of awkwardness he was feeling.

"Stan and Marshall and I were just swapping stories…" Mark offered up, forcing Mary to turn around to get a look at him. "Having a good laugh. Marshall got a chuckle out of the time Stan tried to climb the tree with Missy Jean and took a shot between the legs when he slipped down a branch…"

Mary rolled her eyes, "Just your kind of sophomoric humor…"

"Hey, he thought it was funny!" Mark pointed to his friend, incrementing Marshall at once. "Am I right, man? That was 'America's Funniest Home Videos' worthy…"

"I admit it probably conjured up quite a few chortles," Marshall conceded. With a significant glance at Stan, "I can't say I would've laughed very hard if it had happened to me."

"Yeah, that didn't stop you at the time," Stan waved a threatening finger. "I'm surprised you didn't have to catch Missy because she nearly fell out of the tree herself teasing me about it…"

"Well, you guys are always getting knotted up just for her," Mary chimed in. "Acting like fools just to see her smile."

"What are boys for?" Mark mused, throwing up his hands as if this were the best explanation he had.

It was hard not to respect the way that Mark and Stan had found a way to speak to Marshall about days past without forcing him to remember all on his own. They told their tales and recounted the most excellent portions; all he had to do was picture it and take it all in. Part of Mary wondered whether this method was preferable to being attacked with a volley of information, almost like a college lecture. She would have to ask him.

In the silence that followed Mark's latest declaration, Stan coughed another time, readying himself to speak up on something he considered of far more importance than juvenile games they engaged in on behalf of Melissa.

"You know, we can head out if you all want some time to yourselves…" his voice was gruff, like he thought perhaps mentioning privacy between the spouses was offensive. "We wouldn't want to overstay our welcome…"

Mark was clearly prepared to go along with this sentiment, bouncing to his feet like the energetic little boy he could sometimes be, but Mary threw out a hand to his knee and stopped him before he could go anywhere.

"No, why don't you stay?" she proposed. "I wouldn't want to ruin a good time." Whipping around to face Marshall once more, she shot him a smile that was most unlike her natural one, but that was supposed to portray lightheartedness and ease. "Right, doofus?"

The use of a moniker he recognized wrenched a snicker from his chest, and Mary felt her heart soar. She was acting so phony she was surprised her teeth weren't sparkling like a cheesy game show host's, but her act was getting results. There could be nothing negative about that.

"No, whatever you guys think…" he murmured charitably. "What…what have you been doing all morning?" he wanted to know as Mark eased back into his chair and Stan shuffled over to the window. "I saw your mom and Brandi…"

"Yeah, Jinx mentioned," she confirmed, seizing his hand on impulse like it was a raft line. This time, she didn't even hesitate upon squeezing it, although was mindful of the IV line. "I just wanted to spend some time with Melissa. It's been a hectic few days; I thought she could use a semi-normal Saturday…" she could bring up the bit about Shelley later.

"That sounds like a good idea…" she was glad he approved. "What did you guys do?"

"She just played with her dollhouse; nothing special."

"I look forward to seeing it; I'm sure it's quite a masterpiece."

"She'd love to give you a tour once you come home – hopefully you'll be sprung from this joint sooner rather than later now that you've broken out of the ICU."

At first, Mary didn't entirely register that Marshall seemed to withdraw upon hearing her plans to make him comfortable in their home once more. Memories or no memories, she couldn't wait to get him out of the hospital and back where he belonged. But, a closer look showed her that he had turned somewhat somber and hesitant at the mere mention and a vicious lurch pitched through her stomach at the sight.

Something had gone wrong someplace. What had she said? She'd been doing so well; just two minutes ago she'd been paving the way for a Marshall that knew she was serious and committed, but now? Why did he look like he did? Like he wanted to tell her something she was going to hate hearing come out of his mouth.

Neither Mark nor Stan could see his face, and so they were no help as to what his features meant. That meant Mary was going to have to take the plunge and risk hitting rock bottom the minute she jumped. Unfortunately, her disquiet over the matter had her throwing herself entirely too recklessly in a different direction. She didn't question his feelings, but pressed on with her plan to prove her love.

"I was thinking that…with your leg and everything, it might be more comfortable if you slept in the bed on your own; I can always sleep on the couch until the cast is off."

Marshall knew she wasn't following his thought process, whatever it was, because his eyes swiveled over to Stan, who had stopped his march to listen.

"Are you sure that's…advisable?" he questioned slowly, throwing Mary even further off the mark as to where this was going; she could feel Mark's eyes boring into her back.

"What? Me sleeping on the couch?" she repeated. "I don't care, and you need the space…"

"No, not the couch," he corrected. "I mean…me coming home with you."

It was astonishing how one sentence could cause Mary to feel like she was going to throw up her breakfast in a matter of seconds. The sensation was eerily similar to the stirrings she felt when she'd been pregnant and this, oddly, made her feel even sicker because it reminded her of the era Marshall was stuck in. An era where he was courting Abigail. An era where he did not live with Mary.

Berating herself to stay cool, to not fly off the handle, she swallowed hard and decided to play dumb for a few more minutes.

"I…I don't…" her tone switched over to a stammer when she became flustered. "…Where else would you go?"

"I'm just concerned about Melissa, Mary…" he rationalized in his familiar, controlled manner. "I don't want to give her false hope about…"

"False hope?" his wife reiterated loudly, slicing his words in two. "What does that mean? False hope about what?"

Marshall seemed to be steeling himself for a blow before he answered; due in no small part to Mary's beginning to yell when he hadn't even gotten started. Mary was starting to feel like she was developing hives; her skin tingled like there was a rash spreading over every millimeter of the surface, and yet goosebumps were what actually rose on her arms. They tickled the insides of the sleeves on her shirt and she groped inattentively at her wrists, not sure what else to do in order to ward off this feeling of insurmountable panic.

However, Marshall either didn't notice her disquiet or chose to ignore it. There was something very disturbing about his being willing to discuss something so significant with Mark and Stan just a stone's throw away. Where had all his delicacy gone, his need to protect Mary and her feelings at all costs?

"Well…" he picked up his trail slowly, and his piercing blue eyes didn't wash Mary with the serenity she usually received by looking into them. "Just…false hope…about us."

"Us…you and me?" Mary forced herself to speak, hoping beyond all reason she had mistaken his intentions. "You and Melissa?"

"You and me," he spelled it out. And, as if Mary weren't horrified enough, "I don't know if I'm…really ready to live with the two of you."

It took every fiber of strength Mary possessed not to scream at him, 'And why the hell not?!' As it was, she just barely managed to get to her feet without reaching out to shake him by the shoulders, perhaps in an attempt to knock his old, surefire brain back into place. This wasn't matching up at all. Jinx had said Marshall had been afraid his wife was deliberately staying away from him, but it was clearly the other way around. It was he who wanted to steer clear of her and, for the third time in just a few days, Mary felt her world begin to splinter all over again.

Yanking at the bedcovers to fuel some of her upset, she made Marshall jump slightly upon hearing the disdain and brutality in her voice.

"How horrible have I been to you that you can't bear the idea of coming home with me?!"

This was really not much better than her mental retort, and it seemed to jar Mark and Stan out of the trances they had fallen into watching such a train wreck unfold.

"Mare…" that was Mark, trying to sound reasonable, but his ex-wife didn't even turn to face him.

"We should go…" Stan tried again, but the woman heard no footsteps sound from behind her, all of her attention focused on her husband, who couldn't have been that shocked over her reaction.

"Mary, it isn't like that…" he whispered, looking nervous, like she might slap him any second. "I don't think you're horrible at all…"

"Just not good enough to share a roof with!"

"Can I explain?" he requested, still blinking up at her, reminiscent of a frightened deer discovered in a dark wood. "I just don't think rushing into anything is sensible right now…"

"That is ridiculous!" Mary didn't mean to be so dismissive, but her mouth and her resentment got ahead of her. "It's ridiculous! We're _married!_ You've lived with me for eight years for Christ sakes! What am I supposed to tell Melissa?!"

"Nothing is set in stone; I just feel like…"

"Are you even _trying_ to remember?"

"What?"

"Don't you _want_ to remember? Do you even care that you're supposed to be my husband and there for my kid, or are you looking to hook up with Abigail once the quacks spring you from this hellhole?!"

She was practically spitting, she was so mad, and yet if you had asked her what she was so livid about, she wasn't sure she would have a very good answer. Indeed, when she had questioned Marshall's efforts in powering up his memory, she had seen the pain flit through this face and she felt a sadistic pleasure in making him feel as poorly as she did.

Oddly, selfishly, this satisfaction spurred her on, not giving Marshall a chance to speak up. She steamrolled right over anything of importance he might articulate, all to feed the aching frustration she hadn't been able to get rid of since she'd watched him lying immobile in the middle of the road.

"Like it's not bad enough I can tell you're repulsed every time I kiss you..!"

"Hey…" the man's tone lowered even further, but Mary barely heard him.

"But, now I'm supposed to pack your bags just so you can go neck with Nancy Drew all over again!"

It was then that she felt a hand on her arm, closing firmly on her elbow; the grip was warm nonetheless and Mary heard Stan's voice in her ear.

"Enough, now…come on…" it was quiet enough that only she could pick up the sound, but it was like it floated to her on a distant wind, too far away to regard in the midst of her troubles. "You need to calm down…"

"I don't know why I'm surprised!" she blurted out over her boss' needling. "If I hadn't been in that damn fire, you'd still be with that bimbo detective! I guess it's really only a brush with death that gets you turned on…!"

"Mary, stop."

Stan had turned deadly serious, clamping hard and trying to pull her, but she wouldn't let him. All the heartache she had been suffering since the accident was spilling out, like blood in pools on the floor. She'd been working so hard, trying so hard, and she just kept getting further and further behind. She'd never put so much exertion into something only to come up with nothing in the end.

"Don't go thinking you have to sleep in _our_ bed just for me, Marshall – I don't need your pity or that savior routine you're so into…" not that he'd been offering either. "You go wherever the hell you want. I'll clean up the mess when Melissa all-but breaks in half after she hears you aren't showing up on our doorstep. I can't _wait_ to tell her."

The sarcasm was healing in the foulest way possible because it made Mary feel like she was exactly what Marshall must see her as – ruthless, unfeeling, and with no consideration for anybody but herself. Watching him gape soundlessly at her, no idea how such a small suggestion had to led to this, she made sure she could leave with the final word, no room for debate.

"I…I can speak to Melissa if…"

But, Mary wouldn't listen and had-had enough.

"You don't need to. She's _my_ kid."

And with the malicious emphasis on 'my,' she turned on her heel, wrenched her arm free, and almost bowled Stan over striding the length of the room and out the door, not once sparing herself a second to look back. She even tried to slam the hatch once she was out in the hall, but the heaviness of the hinges wouldn't allow it. It swung creakily and laboriously back into the frame, but by that time Mary was halfway to the elevator, no longer concerned about making a dramatic exit.

Even though unjustified, righteous anger was what was driving her away from her partner, away from her chief, away from her ex, it melted by the time she was in the elevator by herself, not another patron to share the ride. With her breathing loud and heaving in the tiny space, the severity of what she had done began to settle heavily and it was then, when Mary digested all that she had hollered at Marshall, that the tears began to flow.

Confusion didn't even scratch the surface of what she was feeling, and the wetness was hot and sticky on her cheeks, unabashed and shameless with no one to watch her until she reached the waiting room. Questions swirled at breakneck speed through her mind, each more unanswerable than the last. How could she possibly have accused Marshall of not making an effort to remember? Why hadn't she tried to understand? Couldn't she have been more patient? Hadn't she seen the hurt in his eyes when she'd started pointing fingers? On and on and on and on.

She didn't manage to stop crying even once she got downstairs and threw herself onto a couch, drawing many looks from passerby. Most paid her no mind, some whispered; some looked as though they wanted to ask if she was all right, but didn't have the nerve. As a result, Mary simply covered her face with her hands, wetting her palms, trying to think through the darkness with only the small consolation that if anyone was staring now, she wouldn't know it.

It wasn't easy to push past the remorse she was suddenly experiencing for having ripped into Marshall like a whiny, egotistical teenager who didn't understand what he was going through and didn't want to understand. But, once she did, the reason for her outburst loomed ominously like a storm cloud; those familiar chills poked out of their hiding place once more, making her wish she had a jacket to disperse the cold.

What would she do if Marshall didn't come home? There would be no way to rebuild their relationship; it would be like giving up. She'd known he was having trouble processing their courtship, not to mention Melissa's place in their lives, but she had assumed his disorientation would pass. He would buck up and throw himself in headfirst like he always did in frightening situations, and he would come out the other side unscathed and better off. But, was he so mixed-up, so lost that he just couldn't fathom eternity with Mary and had already resolved to move on? Had it come to this? He was so stuck in the past that he wanted to pick up right where he had, seemingly, left off? That time in his life didn't include Mary as his wife, just his abrasive partner. No more, no less.

The woman didn't know how long she sat there, watching gold stars pop in front of her eyes as she pressed her hands further into her lids. All she knew was that it was footsteps that stirred her, footsteps that were too close by to think it was just someone traipsing through on their way to the receptionist's desk. When she parted her fingers, she was nearly blinded by the fluorescent bulbs in the ceiling, but within a few seconds two faces materialized amidst the flashes. One had sweet, childlike brown eyes and an innocently worried expression on his face to match. The other was bald and pulling a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit.

Mary sniffled, as she had no words to justify her tantrum, but it seemed Mark and Stan were prepared to take care of everything. Mark sat beside her on the couch, slipping his arm around her back, and Stan seated himself on the coffee table in front of her. Noiselessly, he handed her the handkerchief and she automatically mopped up her eyes, embarrassed to have her superior see her losing her marbles yet again.

It was several minutes before anyone said anything – perhaps they were waiting until they perceived Mary to be coherent. It was Stan who broke in first and without any pretext at all. It was as though they were continuing a conversation they had begun earlier with no gap in-between.

"This is tough as hell – for all of us."

His timbre was so reassuringly gentle that Mary nodded. She felt Mark squeeze her forearm where his hand was clutching her.

"I know it's killing you to see him like this…"

Again, she bobbed her head. She didn't deserve the sympathy, and yet it was wonderful to finally hear somebody acknowledge that, for as difficult as this was for Marshall, it carried its own set of disturbances for Mary.

"You feel like you're fighting a losing battle. We all do."

At this, Mary sighed deeply, knowing that was exactly how she felt, but strangely lifted hearing Stan note that every single one of them was in this together. When one fell, they all fell. Seeing her coming out of her spell slightly, he switched tactics, but Mary didn't mind so much now that she'd been able to commiserate.

"But, he _is_ trying, kiddo," she knew he meant Marshall. "He's working so hard at making up for lost time, but his brain is just not there yet…"

"I know…" Mary croaked feebly. "I can't force him. I shouldn't have said…what I said…"

"I think he's afraid of what will happen if he goes home," Stan went on, making his inspector's heart race just by talking about it, but she knew she needed to hear him out. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but I'm sure he wants things to work with you – to start over again – and I think he's worried that if he moves too fast or too much that he'll ruin things before they can even get off the ground…"

It was too hard to buy into this logic; the Marshall she adored could never disappoint her and even though she should've been telling him that, it was Stan to whom she confessed.

"When has he ever ruined anything in his life?" more tears trickled onto her cheeks as she said it, and she heard Mark shush her as though from a distance, felt him rub her arm once more. "If he leaves, he may never come back…"

"He just needs time to adjust…" Mark assumed, but Mary waved him away at once.

"He said he loved me…" these were the last two people on earth she would've pictured herself having this conversation with, but there were no secrets anymore. "Years ago, after Melissa was born, I told him how I felt about him and he said he _loved_ me – that he always had…"

"Mary, I watched you work together for almost ten years before that and I can promise you he wasn't lying…"

"But, then what's _wrong_ with him?!" she burst, unintentionally shaking Mark free to gaze hungrily at her boss. "He could've lost almost _twenty_ years and, according to him, he'd _still_ love me! Why doesn't he anymore? What happened? Did he _forget_ how he felt?"

"No, Mare…" Mark whispered, but Stan spoke over him.

"I don't know…" he murmured, and for a fleeting moment, Mary felt endless gratitude toward Stan who would've ordinarily been mortified to discuss something this personal about his two inspectors. But, he put it aside and soldiered on, "I don't know – I guess it isn't that simple. Maybe it's all just too much for him in light of everything he's gone through; too big to take in…"

She didn't want to hear anymore explanations and swiped at her eyes without the use of a tissue this time, wanting to pull herself together but not knowing if she could.

"What am I supposed to do about Melissa?" she was trying to sound businesslike now, but her voice trembled as she posed the question. "This will push her over the edge; she needs him…"

"She does," Stan agreed. "But, she has you and she has us," he indicated Mark with a jerk of his head. "And, in time, I'm sure she'll have Marshall too; he really isn't giving up on you guys, Mary; he's just trying to be careful and sort through all of it…"

This assumption only reminded Mary of how badly she'd behaved upstairs and she knew she had to apologize to her husband sooner rather than later. What was more, she couldn't believe the other two men in her life were here, with her, when she'd been the one who had acted so irrationally. They'd seen the whole thing and nothing about it was becoming to her.

"You should not be down here coddling me after that sick display I put on…" she moaned, leaving aside her chief's comments about her daughter. "Did you just leave Marshall up there so you could swoop in and play dueling Romeo's?"

Mark let out a nervous chuckle, "No…" he said. "We talked to him for a little while longer and then his dad called so we came looking for you – good timing on Seth's part." And then, in case Mary was in doubt, "He was sorry he upset you, but he also said he understood why you were bent out of shape…"

"I was horrific, and you know it."

"But, what's done is done," Stan concluded. "You two will smooth things out. In the meantime, about Missy…"

Mary was fearful that he was going to start pinpointing all the anguish she would go through if Marshall did not return to their mutual home, and that wasn't something she could handle thinking about right now. But, he swerved onto a different course – one that was no less daunting, but at least didn't include the question of whether or not Marshall loved his step-daughter.

"…I've held off ABQ PD about as long as I can, and Grant's been pulling strings like a puppet…"

Mary sucked in her breath, knowing where this was going and berating herself not to come unglued again.

"But, they're chomping at the bit, Mary. They can't charge Aaron Cunningham with anything until they get a full story, and the only one who can give them details on the accident is Missy."

The thought of her child, her sweet, innocent little girl, being interrogated by police over something that was already so nightmare-inducing, was ghastly. And yet, she had known the time was coming, that they couldn't put it off forever. But, what if _this_ was the straw that broke the camel's back? Shelley had warned against anything being able to set Melissa off, and there were so many possibilities down the road that could very well do just that.

"I was thinking…" the bald one went on when Mary didn't respond. "You were saying yesterday that you wanted to get into the office – just tidy up a few things. Why don't you head over there tomorrow and tie up some loose ends with Eleanor? I'll take Missy to the police station and drop her off with you once we're through over there."

"But…" Mary spotted a serious flaw here. "I need to go with her, talk her through the questions and everything; I can't send her off on her own…"

"ABQ PD will frown on you being there, you know that…" Stan was kind, but realistic. "You're her mom; they can say you're influencing her story if you're too big of a presence…"

"But, I…"

"I will take care of her; I promise," Stan interrupted. "If they turn into sharks and go out for blood, I will pull her in two seconds – testimony be damned. All right?"

The idea still didn't sit well with Mary, but she knew Stan spoke the truth. It was highly likely that the detectives at the police station would think she was tainting Melissa's account of what had happened if she was on the scene. She would never do as much on purpose, of course, but she could get fairly wired when dealing with police personnel, and when you put her daughter into the mix there were no guarantees. She would have to trust Stan to keep everybody in check.

"They just want to talk to her, Mary…" he was almost pleading now, but he needn't have done anymore.

"No, I know…" she didn't want him to have to make his case any longer. "Fine…" an exhale. "But, bringing her to the office isn't that smart even if I'll be there; we stopped doing that when she could overhear things…"

"It's Sunday; it'll be a ghost town," Stan was obviously unconcerned. "And, I have to get a few things done tomorrow afternoon, so it's easier if you're there to take her once we get back."

Mary couldn't help feeling badly for Mark as he listened to all of this, knowing he was an outsider in the world of WITSEC. He had certainly never been to the Sunshine Building, nor did he know what Melissa might 'overhear' if she was in proximity to where they worked. However, he took it all in stride and didn't say a word; it made Mary appreciate his flexibility and ability to be so easygoing.

"Don't let her out of your sight, you hear?" the woman barked suddenly with an abrupt return to her usual abrasiveness. "I want a full report when you bring her back."

Stan nodded solemnly, "Scout's honor," he swore. And finally, "I know more upheaval is the last thing you two need."

XXX

**A/N: What would one of my stories be without relationship drama? It is par for the course!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Thank-you to Jayne Leigh for another round of catch-up reviews! I hope that everyone who was reading is still enjoying this. I don't know why, but I feel like it is lacking something. Hard to say the reason, but the writing just didn't come as easily as some of my other stories.**

XXX

It was pride and, more accurately, cowardice that kept Mary from returning to the hospital for the rest of her Saturday. Her stomach squirmed when she thought about how she had left things hanging with Marshall, and going home to a Melissa that was entirely put-out she had not been able to visit her step-father didn't help. Nonetheless, everyone kept saying time was what they needed, and so that was what Mary could give Marshall – time. Time to think, time to be on his own, time to determine whether he truly wanted to set up camp at Stan's or Mark's or, God forbid, in a hotel once he was well enough to leave the hospital.

As no official arrangements had been made, Mary didn't see the point in telling Melissa all about Marshall's aspirations. There was no sense in upsetting her further, especially since she was forcing her child into a stressful morning with complete strangers that were going to cross-examine her about the most dreadful instance in her short little life. Upon hearing this news, Missy was less than thrilled and Jinx, who had stuck around after babysitting, was close to scandalized.

However, Missy didn't spend much time dwelling, especially once she heard that Stan would take her to the Sunshine Building after the fact. It was true that she was rarely allowed to darken the doorway, but once in a blue moon they permitted her to drop in – in spite of Mary's insistence to her boss that they'd not given her admittance since she'd learned how to talk. For whatever odd reason, she was very fond of the place, and if they were going to let her pass through the glass double doors, all the better for it to happen on a Sunday when next to nobody was around.

And so, that was where such a day found Mary, attempting to complete a few of the projects she had abandoned since Marshall had been hit with little success. Eleanor was like a machine, her polar opposite, striding atop the linoleum with purpose, talking on the phone, typing almost fanatically on her computer. Mary envied her deeply and wondered how she had taken up a new job so quickly after her husband, John, had died so many years before. Marshall had survived and still Mary found it almost impossible to concentrate, although that was probably because she kept thinking about Missy at the police station.

Eventually, when she had been sitting sedentary for almost ten minutes, staring into space, her office manager finally broached what they'd been dancing around all morning. Eleanor knew Mary didn't care to discuss anything of a sensitive nature, but as she seemed so mentally absent, it was inevitable that she was going to bring it up in due time. Stopping in front of the inspector's desk, she tossed a file folder onto the mess that was already cluttering the space, hoping to regain her focus.

Mary did glance up, although blankly, and saw an Eleanor that was somewhere between miffed and concerned. The annoyance probably came from the fact that she was the one doing all the work.

"Is there something else I can do to lighten your load?" she asked.

At first, Mary wasn't sure whether she was serious, if she detected any malice that was meant for the blonde to realize she couldn't possibly do anything else while Mary sat around and did nothing.

She went with a neutral reply, "Like what?"

"You seem very distracted. Are you sure it was a good idea for you to come in today?"

"Stan needed me to," Mary informed her. "Because he has Melissa."

"How has she been?" Eleanor wondered. "Stan said that she really handled the…unfortunate news about Marshall…" if that was what you wanted to call it. "…Surprisingly well."

"Better than I did, that's for sure," the other grumped. "She's been fine…but, after today I don't know what I'm going to…"

But, before she could finish her thought, she heard the telltale swipe of a badge being passed through the slot on the opposite side of the adjoining glass doors. Both she and Eleanor whirled around at the noise and there was Stan, leading Missy by the hand as though the two of them frequently strolled around the rooftop without a care in the world.

Mary bounded out of her chair so enthusiastically that its wheels went spinning toward the window, where it crashed into the air vent with a spectacular clang. She paid it no mind, as she was too busy zeroing in on her daughter who didn't seem at all scarred if you judged on physical appearance alone. She swung on Stan's hand, pumping it back and forth, carrying a waffle cone in her other hand, from which she licked a light green scoop of ice cream. She wore the new overalls Jinx had given her, which had already been splattered with ice cream. Unfortunately, the stain was far more noticeable on khaki than it would have been on denim.

"Hi, mom…!" she pulled her hand free from Stan's and hurried forward, dipping her chin to catch a drip from her cone as she ran. With nary a word about where she'd just been, she held out her treat, "Do you want a bite?"

"Oh…" Mary was caught off guard by this show of cheerfulness and glanced at Stan, who shrugged but smiled as well. "I…I don't know, sweets. What kind is it?"

"Pistachio."

The mother made a face in hopes of seeing her grin, sticking her tongue out and wrinkling her nose.

"I'll pass."

Missy only hunched her shoulders at this, and then spotted the other woman in the room, whom she threw a glowing smile. It was no secret she loved attention, even if she didn't seek it out or bask in it the way some bratty children would.

"Hi, Eleanor…" she greeted her between slurps. "I like your skirt."

The skirt in question was one of Eleanor's usual floral prints, patterned with large pink roses. It struck Mary as funny that Melissa would compliment it, as she was certain she would never wear such a thing herself, but the ability to praise others was part of her charm.

"Thank-you, honey…" Eleanor crooned like a grandmother. "I haven't seen you in awhile. How are you?"

"Good," she answered, now speeding up her eating because the ice cream was melting fast. "I think Stan likes that skirt on you too."

There was something very sly about the way she said this, but it was so subtle it was impossible to tell if it was intentional. What felt like years ago now, Marshall and Mary had often gotten Melissa to laugh herself silly over the possibility of Stan and Eleanor becoming an item. It seemed she was still hoping that some form of romance would bloom, not even blushing when Stan let out a laugh that was a little too loud to be entirely spontaneous.

"And when did I say something like that, captain?" he asked, punching her on the shoulder.

Mary was worried she would stagger at being hit, and she did, but regained her footing fast, fluttering her eyelashes at Stan that left nothing to the imagination any longer.

"I saw you _looking_," another pointed bat of her lashes followed this statement.

Most men would crumble, but Stan stayed cool, raising his brown eyes a fraction of an inch to meet Eleanor's. Mary was pleased to see that she didn't look offended, although there was a definite hint of embarrassment, highlighted by the tinge of pink in her cheeks.

"Well, how do you know I wasn't looking at you?" Stan asked, sticking a hand on his hip and peering down at the little girl, one of the few people he was taller than. "You're awfully cute."

Missy giggled girlishly, pushing the bridge of her glasses back onto her nose to keep them from slipping.

"You know it's rude to stare, Stan," she spouted, crunching on a nut in her ice cream. "Eleanor might not like it."

But, it could not have been plainer as she smirked at the woman that she very much doubted this, just waiting to be contradicted. Stan and Eleanor shared the laugh this time, Mary joining in rather reluctantly, her mind still far-far away, immersed in thoughts of what had gone on at ABQ PD. It seemed to delay in catching up to the present; Melissa seemed perfectly unaffected and yet, still, she fretted obsessively.

"Are you trying to play matchmaker, Missy?" Eleanor proposed, giving Stan a reprieve from responding on this round. "You don't think Stan and I would look a little funny together? I'm a tad taller than he is…"

"That doesn't matter!" she almost shrieked and dropped her ice cream, as if she had a shot at pushing them together. "Marshall is taller than mom and they're together! And _he_ says looks don't matter anyway – or, at least, he used to."

The looks the trio traded at that moment were very different from the innocent ones that had been passed around just minutes before, even though Melissa's tone didn't alter one iota. Mary's insides had contracted almost at once at the mention of her husband, and the other two didn't seem to know which direction to go next. Fortunately, Eleanor found a diplomatic answer to use – something she was very skilled at.

"Well, I'm sure Marshall still thinks that," his wife could only hope so. "For as long as I've known him, he's been able to find beauty in just about anything."

Missy nodded fervently, "I got my glasses when I was four, and I thought I looked terrible, but he said I was _gorgeous_ – that they made me look smart and that smart girls are the prettiest ones!"

Mary wouldn't have been surprised if Eleanor started tearing up at this sentiment – she was having problems warding off emotion as well – but she merely smiled and copied the little girl's movements of nodding her head.

"Well, there you are," she finished. "And, look at you now. Gorgeous as ever."

The trademark, "thank-you" came from Melissa after this observation and she crunched noisily on her waffle cone while Stan and Eleanor went over logistics on a few cases in hushed tones, never using names, a few times speaking in code in case Melissa felt like listening. It was very hush-hush, but Mary had to admit that they were very good about being discrete, not that her daughter seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention. Just as the blonde was about to interrupt the conversation in some half-hearted way because she was dying to get Stan alone to ask him how things had unfolded at police headquarters, Missy swallowed her final bite, dusting her hands on her overalls.

"Mom, I need to use the bathroom."

Pulled out of her shabby strategy to get rid of Eleanor, she blinked somewhat stupidly at Melissa waiting expectantly below, as if she were surprised to find her there.

"Okay…" she said. "Well, you know where it is, girly."

"But, I need help with the door."

"Oh, yeah…that's right…"

The door in question was considerably heavy, and the handle on the inside was the kind of vertical lever you had to push in order to open it. Melissa's lack of muscles meant that she was often deficient in shoving the wooden barrier back open. Mary well-remembered her getting stuck inside when she was six and screaming at the top of her lungs to be let out.

"All right…" Mary sighed, hoping she didn't sound irritated, just tired. "Come on, I'll take you back…"

But, Eleanor stepped in, "I can go with her, Mary."

Another wide-eyed blink, "You don't mind?"

"No, of course not. Let's go, Melissa…" and she held out her hand. "We'll see if we can do something about that stain, too," poking the bib of her overalls with her index finger.

It was a shame that Eleanor didn't have any children or, indeed, grandchildren to dote on, because she fussed over Melissa as naturally as if she were her own. Reflecting on this as she watched their retreating backs, Mary almost forgot the reason she was anxious to have them gone, but not for long. Stan was still in the middle of chuckling to himself, shaking his head and staring fondly after the pair as if nothing could please him more.

"She is really something else…" he observed. "Before we know it, she'll have mapped out a wedding and have place settings organized in that dollhouse of hers…"

But, Mary couldn't have cared less about the saga that might've been developing between Stan and Eleanor. In better times, she and Marshall always kept their eyes peeled for signals that the two might be growing closer, but it was not even a blip on her radar today. She cut through his babble like a knife, making the most of the time she had while Melissa was out of earshot.

"How'd it go?" she demanded, her voice similar to the one she used when she was quizzing a particularly thorny witness. "Did…did she do okay? Did she cry? Did you have to get on the amateurs over there and tell them to lay off or…?"

She was chattering so rapidly that she barely noticed Stan raise his hand in her face. If she wanted a report, she was going to have to scale it back and yet was unable to make herself do so.

"I know that I should've gone; I don't care what the asshats down there think about my stupid 'influence…'" the guilt she often felt for saddling the boys with what was supposed to be her daughter was returning in full-force. "I'm her mother; I'm supposed to stand up for her no matter what…"

"Mary."

Stan's tone didn't trail at all; only her name seemed necessary to making her quiet down. That, and two hands closing around her shoulders so he could peer directly into her eyes. All of a sudden, she heard how foolishly she'd been rambling and felt silly, but Stan didn't seem to have the same feeling. She was lucky someone was willing to cut to the chase.

"She was _stellar_. An absolute champ."

"Really?" she trickled out weakly; some of the feeling was returning to her legs and she was finding it easier to breathe.

"Really," Stan repeated. "Are you sure you didn't coach her? Because she acted like she sits around and recounts stories to the police on a regular basis."

"No…no…" Mary insisted, unable to believe that things could've gone without incident, and without her to supervise the scene as well. "I…I just told her to be honest – to tell them everything she could remember, but if she couldn't remember something then it was okay…"

"Well, I hardly needed to be there – not that I left her side for a second," he added, in case Mary thought he might've wandered off to the vending machine while Missy gave her testimony. "Grant took care of most of the grunt work, and he took it about as easy on her as he could."

"I'm glad it was Banks."

"So was I," Stan concurred. "I might've had a little something to do with getting him on the case too, but he's always willing to do me a favor," a wink.

Mary exhaled slowly, trying to make her peace with the fact that the entire ordeal had not been a disaster. Of course, it was exactly as she had hoped, but she'd had so many worries that it would blow up and Missy would be much worse for wear, and so it was hard to get her thoughts in a different frame of mind. Seeing her release some of her relief, her boss patted her on the shoulder; he knew her almost as well as Marshall did – or used to – and he also knew how she troubled herself over Melissa even under normal circumstances.

"You can relax, inspector. You've raised her well. There was only one hitch and as soon as it was taken off the table, she was back to her old self…"

Mary's ears perked up, "What do you mean? What hitch? What happened?" this sounded more like what she'd anticipated and she didn't intend to bypass any bumps in the road.

"It was nothing…" Stan claimed.

"What 'nothing?'" she wasn't convinced, narrowing her eyebrows.

"Now, don't start losing it, all right?" this meant that whatever had gone down was likely to make her angry, which only heightened her suspicions. "But, Aaron Cunningham was there – at the police station, I mean, not in the vicinity of where Grant was set up – and one of the detectives asked if Missy wanted to see him…"

"Are you _kidding_ me?!"

Stan ignored the explosion, "And Missy said no – frankly, I wouldn't have let her even if she'd agreed – but I think she was afraid they were going to make her and she got a little teary, but…"

"STAN!" Mary slapped his arm without thinking, something she often did to Marshall when he was being exasperating. "Jesus! Who was it? What could she possibly gain from seeing him?!"

"It's not an issue!" he barked, looking startled at being manhandled. "I shut them down in two seconds, I talked to Missy, and she was just fine. You can ask her yourself."

Mary had no intentions of doing that, and Stan probably knew it. She was hoping to forget all about the man who had rammed into her husband, accident or no accident, and she certainly didn't want Melissa to have anything to do with him. Feeling a little badly that she'd shouted at her chief when he'd been so courteous in taking Melissa to be questioned and then done such a great job looking after her, she resolved to try and hear him out in case he needed to tell her anything else.

"So…so, that was it then?" she asked in what she hoped was a level voice. "No meet and greet, you whisked her out of there, _spoiled_ her with ice cream…" Stan grinned sheepishly when she placed great inflection on a single word. "And brought her here."

"Sounds about right," he concluded.

"Do I owe you for that nasty pistachio?"

"No, my treat," he chortled at her having to characterize it as gross since it was not a flavor she would prefer. "Although, it is most unlike you to offer to spot me – tight wad like you."

Mary knew full well he was kidding, but she tapped him lightly in the chest anyway, making sure not to do it hard enough to hurt him – something she hadn't considered minutes earlier. Stan didn't even try to stop her; typically, he was smart enough to jump out of the way, but he must've known she was teasing too. There was something fatherly and caring in his gaze as he looked at her. It likely came from the fact that he had so rarely seen her happy in the last few days, and this was the closest she'd come.

"Thank-you for going down with her," Mary expressed, deciding to act on what little joy she was experiencing before it evaporated. "Anybody else, she might've been nervous, but you must've put her at ease…"

"Listen to you, all flattering," he clearly wanted to keep their light repartee going. "And wrong, make no mistake. It was my training, if anything, that got her through. You or Marshall could've done the job just as well."

"I wouldn't be too sure," she grumbled, casting her trademark gloom over them without thinking. "Although, if Marshall remembers how to do anything at this point, his job is probably first on the list. Boy, it would suck to lose ten years of your life and your credentials on top of it…"

Her dark humor was followed up with a sarcastic chuckle, and Stan looked unsure as to whether he really wanted to start in on anything Marshall-related when they'd been having such a nice chat. But, before Mary had to watch him chew on his lip and shuffle his feet for too long, her cell phone started buzzing on her desk. Grateful for the excuse to check it and avoid an awkward exchange, she motored around to look at the display.

Whatever liberation she'd been feeling vanished almost at once. Seeing her husband's name flashing back at her usually didn't prompt feelings of disquiet, but a lot of things had changed since that fateful Wednesday afternoon. Her foreboding must've shown on her face, because Stan rapped the desk with his knuckles, making her look up.

"What?" he wanted to know.

She shook the phone at him, "Speak of the devil."

It took him a moment, but then he obviously recalled that they had said Marshall's name and all the pieces fell into place. Unsure what to make of the blonde's sudden alarm, he hunched his shoulders and tried to get to the bottom of how she felt before the phone rang itself into voicemail.

"Have you talked to him since yesterday?"

"No."

To his credit, Stan managed to look only mildly irate and arched his brows.

"Surely you're planning to at some point."

"_You_ should be the detective," Mary spat, goading him.

"Well, now is as good a time as any. Come on, inspector…" he nodded at the still-vibrating cell in her hand. "Don't leave him hanging."

She hadn't planned on saying her apologies in front of her boss, but it was a good thing Stan had become far more than that as the years had elapsed. Turning her back and hitting the tiny green button that would place her connection, she shook her hair out of her face and braced herself. It was an effort for her to remind herself that Marshall was her husband, with or without his memories, and nothing changed that. Even in his mind, they were still thick-as-thieves partners. She'd always been able to tell him anything. She would do well not to forget that.

"Hello?"

It was funny how one word already made her appear out of her depth. She usually greeted Marshall in a variety of ways. "What's up?" or "Yeah?" or "Hey, doofus," or even, "What do you want?" were some of her most popular verses. "Hello" was oddly formal. Fortunately, Marshall himself opted not to use it and went with something more casual.

"Hey, there…"

"Hi," Mary almost spoke over him trying to sound off-the-cuff, which in and of itself was contradictory. "How…how is everything? Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm well, thank-you…" he replied. "I just thought I would check in with you. I hope I'll see you sometime this afternoon. I miss you."

He'd only spoken four sentences, and yet something vast, almost cosmic, altered inside of Mary. A huge, inviting hole had opened up somewhere in her heart. It wasn't really his words that were doing it – although they were lovely and encouraging – but his voice. It was strange, but when she didn't have to look at him, see his puzzled, wide eyes and read all of his body language, it made him so much more like the Marshall she wanted back. This realization gave her hope that he was out there somewhere – hidden, sheltered, but out there nonetheless if only she could reach him.

"I miss you too," Mary whispered, and she said it because she meant it, not because it was polite to reciprocate. Suddenly, the rest of what she had planned to say came much easier too. "I'm…I'm really sorry about yesterday. You…I know you weren't trying to hurt me, which is more than I can say for myself after the way I talked to you…"

"Oh, well…" Marshall seemed surprised to have garnered an apology so quickly, but not so surprised he couldn't accept. "I didn't exactly handle the situation with kid gloves. Some warning might've helped; I kind of sprung it on you…"

Mary wanted to say that yes, he had, and also that any sort of preparation for the bomb he'd dropped wouldn't really have assisted, but she kept her mouth shut. Behind her, she could hear Stan slinking away; she'd been trying to be low key, but apparently he could still hear her side of the conversation and didn't want to look like he was eavesdropping.

"I'm still sorry," was the best she could think of to say in order to end any sort of dialogue about the day before. "Of…of course you're trying – I can't expect anything to happen overnight…"

"For what it's worth, I know you're trying too."

The piece of Cassidy that followed Mary around, however small, suddenly wiggled its way to the exterior.

"Thank-you."

"Don't mention it."

There was a silence then, and something told the woman that it might be prudent – not to mention hugely generous – to tell him if he really didn't think he was ready to be her live-in spouse once he was out of the hospital, that she understood and would support him. She'd been working out all sorts of ways to say such a thing and sound sincere at the same time, but now that she was up against the task she wasn't sure she could follow through. Maybe later. Maybe if she waited, he would change his mind and she wouldn't have to go that far. There was no need to spoil what had so far been easy banter.

"So, um…" in her attempt not to veer toward anything involving house and home, she landed on the most random topic that sprung to mind. "I bet you're…sick as shit of that hospital food…"

She heard him laugh before she could finish, and in an instant she could see his bright, beautiful face – alight with happiness and a simplicity he hadn't possessed in some time. Like a photograph, she tried to plant it in her subconscious, to hold the snapshot as long as possible even if she couldn't really know how he actually looked at the moment. Her imagined version was probably far better than the real thing at present.

"I can't deny I am slogging through the cherry Jell-O at this point," he admitted once he finished guffawing at the way she'd cursed. "And, I'm still stuck on liquids for the most part. Solids tomorrow, perhaps, so I will aim high…"

"Can I bring you anything that they'll actually let you eat?" Mary seized the nearest pad and pencil as though she were a waitress preparing to write down his order. "Anything, really. I have to take Melissa to get some lunch anyway – although Stan is the one who fed her ice cream for breakfast."

Marshall didn't comment on their boss and responded humbly, "I don't want you to go to any trouble. My options are limited…"

"Do you want a smoothie from that place over by China Star?" she asked, struck with sudden inspiration. "Pineapple and orange, right?"

"Um…sure…" he submitted, having to decide on the spot since Mary had been so quick. "Pineapple and orange, that's right. I guess I still like that, huh?" by the way his voice tapered in a small chuckle, she could tell he was wondering if this was a good time to joke.

She took it well and said, "Yeah, you do. Some things never change."

Before she could ask him if there was anything else she could deliver to him – not just in the way of food, but perhaps his own pillow or a blanket – Missy returned, wandering back onto the main floor with Eleanor right behind her. Once she came closer, Mary noticed that the ice cream blemish on her overalls had been partially blotted out, but now there was a giant wet spot to replace it. Hopefully once it dried, it would look so unsightly.

"What time do you think you'll be by?" Marshall inquired, and it might've just been wishful thinking on Mary's part, but he did sound eager.

She checked her watch, "Maybe an hour? I can call when I'm on my way…"

All of a sudden, she felt a tug on the hem of her shirt and looked down to see her daughter's little round glasses twinkling into her face.

"Where are you going?" she hissed.

Mary waved her away and got back to Marshall.

"Is that okay?" she pressed her finger into her ear to make sure the excess noise wouldn't prevent her from hearing him.

"Yeah, that's fine. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

The second joke in just a few minutes. He did seem to be in an awfully good mood. Mary had to chastise herself not to just abandon lunch and speed over to the hospital in a matter of seconds, but her fingers were tingling in high anticipation. He sounded so much like himself that she could've cried, just like a lovesick girl in some terrible romantic comedy.

She grinned just trying to keep her excitement at bay, but also let her guard down and didn't consider who would be able to hear her next words.

"If I catch you trying to be chivalrous and greet me on bended knee, I'll bolt you to your bed, doofus."

It was the nickname that did it. Melissa heaved her shirt so hard that she actually heard a few threads pop loose. Staggering and almost treading on her daughter's foot, she didn't have a second to regain her bearings before the little girl proved she was not about to be ignored.

"That's MARSHALL!" her voice was shrill, not entirely blissful because she thought she was being denied his presence. She jumped what looked like a clear two feet off the ground in order to get at the phone. "Let me talk to him!"

This plea was followed by a swipe so vigorous that she nearly sent the cell phone flying across the room when she clipped it with her nails. Mary pulled it out of her reach and glared, not amused by her child's display of immaturity when she'd previously been locked in her own little world with Marshall.

"Melissa, stop that," she ordered, nudging her back, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

"I want to talk to him!" her whine was relentless as she made another furious grab for the phone.

"_I'm_ talking to him. Cut it out!"

"You've already _gotten_ to talk to him – a bunch of times! You see him every single day! It's not fair!"

There was something very worn out in the eight year old's gaze, like she was drowning in despair from having her advances rebuffed. Mary knew she had to be tired; she was being pulled a hundred different directions and expected to deal with issues that were far more adult than she was. Rather than have Marshall hear her arguing, not to mention Stan and Eleanor, she relented only in part because she did want to wrap up her discussion with her husband on her own terms.

"If I let you go and visit him after lunch, can I finish?"

All of Missy's anguish was swept from the room and she clasped her hands in front of her chest, which did a decent job concealing the damp marks on her overalls.

"Could I?!"

While she was bargaining, she might as well go all the way, "You'll have to eat Chinese because I need to pick up a few things by the restaurant."

Chinese was not Melissa's favorite, but this was the least of her worries and Mary's as well. She'd already snacked on ice cream at eleven in the morning.

"Okay!" she was as agreeable as ever, her green eyes shimmering at the prospect ahead. "Tell him I'll bring him something too!" she wasn't about to be second banana when it came to gift-giving.

"Like what?"

Melissa thought only for a moment, "I can draw him a picture."

This was a good idea because it would give her something to do while Mary finished going through the rest of her files. Strictly speaking, she didn't love having her daughter at the office even though Melissa thrived when she got the chance, probably because it was such a novelty for her. But, Mary always worried she would hear something she shouldn't or come across some lowlife, the kind of which she wouldn't want anywhere near her flesh and blood. But, with this plan, she could stick her in the conference room to work on her drawing until it was time to eat.

Nodding at the office manager with her cell still clamped between her chin and shoulder, "Ask Eleanor to find you some paper and crayons."

With a boisterous little leap, Melissa was off and running and Mary distinctly saw Stan lounging in the doorway of his office, watching the whole scene with a half-smile on his face. Glad that she'd at least managed to avert a crisis, the woman shook her head and got back to her call, hoping Marshall hadn't hung up with the bedlam going on-on their side of town.

"Did you catch any of that?" she posed.

"Most of it," his voice floated through once more. "Sounds like I am going to have more than one lady caller today."

Mary suddenly felt a bout of panic in her midsection.

"Is that all right?"

She hadn't even asked his opinion; he might not want a whole crowd of people, and it was entirely plausible he wasn't up for dealing with Missy. She was far from difficult, but he must feel a certain amount of pressure having to play the doting step-father role he couldn't remember having taken on. In a nervous habit she had never been able to shake, Mary gnawed on her corner of her thumb, working on a gruesome hangnail. But, that was before Marshall put all her fears to rest, showcasing nobility he seemed not to have lost no matter how many blows he sustained to his head.

"Well, I just assumed I'd be treated to both my girls today."

Adoration and ecstasy swelled so rapidly inside Mary that she felt like an inflated balloon.

"I love you."

And, this time, she didn't even care if he said it back.

XXX

**A/N: Much love for the reviews and support!**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Big hugs to those plugging along with me! Lots of love!**

XXX

"Drinking a smoothie and becoming ambulatory all in one day. Who knew there would be so many milestones to wake up to this morning?"

"Don't say 'ambulatory.'"

But, even as she made her request, Mary had to laugh, something that was coming a lot easier to her on this auspicious Sunday. Marshall's persistence and positivity was catching even though she usually wasn't susceptible to such things as merriment. He wasn't the only one who was breaking new ground.

"Pretty soon you'll be able to catch up with me!" Melissa chirruped from halfway down the hall, doing a kind of pirouette in midair that sent her careening into the wall. Unfazed, she flapped her arms like a bird, inviting Marshall her direction. "And then we'll be able to race again!"

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Melissa…" Mary called. "And, be careful," she added, having seen her nearly crash and burn because she wasn't watching her always-precarious balance.

They were stationed in a nearly-deserted hallway several floors below Marshall's room and, with the doctor's permission, he was on his feet and practicing with his crutches for the very first time. When they had been informed that he was cleared and strong enough to give it a try, both had been close to flabbergasted. Marshall had looked highly uncertain about whether his bad leg and ankle could hold his weight and Mary, insecure as she was deep down, was afraid he would fall.

Still though, progress was progress, and it was imperative that the woman not show her fears. If it went too badly, they could simply relegate him to a wheelchair. She tried very hard to squash the thought that if he couldn't walk, he couldn't possibly manage on his own and would therefore be forced to come home when the time arrived. Fortunately, this kind of selfishness didn't last. She wanted him on his feet and back to his sprightly self too badly to really wish for him to be bound in a sitting position.

Nonetheless, it was slow going at first, due mostly to the fact that he was still in his plaster cast and had trouble maneuvering with that as well as the crutches. They'd also been warned he would get out of breath very quickly because of his repaired lung lacerations. And yet, if you watched Melissa as she skipped ahead of them, you would think he was about to run a marathon. Gallivanting over the tiles, swaying left and right without a thought to spare for the fact that she kept slipping, she cheered him on like she had a bullhorn in her tiny hands.

Meanwhile, Mary stayed close to her husband, doing her best not to throw out her hands to try and catch him every time he looked like he was going to stumble.

"My equilibrium seems to have suffered a bit…" he remarked, pausing in step to angle his leg to where he could hop on the opposite one. "I don't feel especially stable…"

"Well, your right side is heavier than it usually is," Mary reminded him. "Once you get a more flexible cast, you'll be able to distribute your weight a little better."

"Let's hope that day isn't too far away…" veering into her again, she pushed him gently back toward the wall and his hand caught the middle slats in the crutches, knuckles growing white from trying to hold on. "The doctors have promised me one of those sleek black ones; I can look like I injured myself playing soccer or something…"

"It will be lighter, at any rate," Mary said with a laugh halfway through at the thought of Marshall bopping a ball with his head. "This is just to get the feel of things. Let me know if you get tired, okay?"

"As if you would've ever succumbed to such weaknesses if this were you."

"Yeah, but we're not talking about me, we're talking about you," driving the point home, for Mary didn't care about double standards, she cared about making sure he didn't hurt himself worse. "And, if you don't feel like telling me, I can call it quits on my own and haul you back upstairs."

"That'll be pretty."

All the breath was chased out of him as he attempted another swing forward, angling his leg at the knee so it was raised just slightly off the ground. From this perspective, Mary could see how tightly his ankle was bound together by tan wrappings. One thing was for sure. Surgery, repairs, or not, his entire right limb was virtually rubber; there wouldn't be much to save him if he happened to topple over.

"Go slow, all right?" the blonde advised, knowing she shouldn't touch the crutches even though she had a desperation to anchor them to the floor so he could get a good start. Pitching her voice slightly lower, "No matter what Melissa says, this isn't a race."

He chuckled, but it was mostly for her benefit. His face was drawn in lines of determination, but was also beaded with sweat just from having moved about two feet in the last ten minutes. But, seeing how flushed he was with pleasure just at being up and around was enough to have Mary squealing like a cheerleader if he had even the smallest of victories. The happier he was, the happier she was, and the closer they became to the couple they had once been.

"I just need to make sure I get a good push off from my left, but I don't typically bear down on it like this. Funny, how you don't think about the mechanics of walking until you find yourself here…"

His sentence was drowned by a bellow from the end of the corridor.

"You can do it, Marshall!" Missy cupped her hands around her mouth for ample volume. And then, "Hey mom…" she pointed at a window to her left. "There are babies in here – lots of them!"

"All the more reason for you to be quiet," Mary interjected. "Stop being so loud, you hear?"

The sternness couldn't suppress the child's glee at having the three of them together again. In fact, her mother's acerbic nature was probably comforting; such snippy banter was what she had grown accustomed to.

"If you need help, just say the word…" the female inspector got back to Marshall. "Ready…?"

"Or not," he finished the phrase. "Blast off…"

Having stood on one foot like a stork for the better part of two minutes now, it seemed he was finally prepared to give the crutches a go. Mary's hands were almost fluttering, just waiting to snatch him up before he went spinning toward the floor. In the distance, she could see Melissa, one eye on the nursery full of infants, one waiting for Marshall to make his way in her direction.

At first, he did very well, at least from Mary's point of view. She could tell just by looking at him that he was so focused it would be idiotic to interrupt and break his concentration. He was actually biting his lip and had ceased blinking, he was so unwavering, and Mary couldn't help but admire his grit. Rocking forward, he kept his right, injured leg held aloft and then propelled himself using his strong one as well as the aide of the crutches. He managed like this, however slowly, for about three steps before Mary couldn't hold her pride inside any longer.

"That's it…" she hummed, dragging her feet along beside him. "You're doing great. Take a break if you need to…"

Two hobbles later, he took her advice and paused, panting like a dog and loosening his grip on one of his crutches so he could lean against the wall. Mary hurried up to him at once, allowing him to sink his weight into her side. He was heavier than she expected, but fortunately they had the plaster to help them.

"You all right?" she had to make sure, keeping her arm secure around his back. "You sound a little winded, old man."

He didn't laugh, but that was probably because he couldn't and not risk popping one of his lungs. After a few seconds, he gasped out some audible words with a sizeable amount of effort.

"I can…barely breathe…"

Normally, this might be cause for concern, but Mary remembered what Doctor Warren had said about this being likely to happen. Rather than become alarmed, she went with the practical response, not that she expected Marshall to take her up on her offer.

"Do you want to call it quits? They can have a wheelchair down here in two seconds."

"No…" the reply was predictable, but he wheezed as he said it. "I'm not going to…build any endurance…if I don't…practice…" there were gaps between every few words so he could inhale and exhale properly.

"But, I don't want them suing my ass if you collapse."

"I won't," this time, his phrase came in a stab. "Let me at least try to make it to the nursery," he proposed, eyes on the prize ahead. "Where Melissa is standing…" just in case Mary needed the frame of reference. "Then…I'll pack it in."

Unadvisable though Mary was sure this was, she knew Marshall didn't just give up when he had a hefty task to tackle. The glassed-in room that housed the fleet of newborns seemed miles away, but so long as she remained stationed right next to him, it didn't seem too treacherous. If her tension truly got the better of her on their miniature journey, she could always grab him around the waist and have done with it. It wouldn't please him, but it might save him from a pulmonary embolism. His tibia and ankle didn't even seem to be the real problem, other than being cumbersome to move. It was his being prone to crumpling to the ground because he could grab a breath of air.

Attempting to be confident because that was what he wanted, Mary mounted her figurative horse once more, readjusting the crutches so he could reach them.

"Well, let's go then," she pointed up the hall as though there were a red carpet rolled out for them. "Strut your stuff."

For the second time, the man began the process of arranging himself so that he could reach his destination. To his credit, he was quicker in setting off this time, no doubt because he had figured out how to position his bandaged leg without scraping it on the ground. Two straddles into the game, however, Missy seemed to grow impatient and left her post by the window, rushing down the linoleum to greet her tottering step-father.

"I'm glad you get to use crutches, Marshall," she piped up, stopping in their path to inform them of her feelings.

"Why is that, girly?" Mary asked, knowing her husband wasn't up to the task of answering.

"Because I thought he might have to use a cane or something, and only grandpas use those. He's not old enough to be a grandpa!"

"Hmm…not so sure…" her mother joked, but only half-heartedly because she was trying to keep her eagle eye on the man in question, who was looking more glazed-over by the minute. "He was sort of born a hundred, if you know what I mean."

"No, he wasn't…" Missy shook her head and giggled. "He couldn't be!"

"It's an expression, sweets."

"I know that!"

"But, he was probably the only two-year-old on the block reciting Shakespeare and speaking French…"

"I speak French!" the little one bleated, walking backwards on her heels now because Marshall was getting awfully close to mowing her down. "Not much, but you taught me some," averting her eyes to the taller of the two. "_Comment ca va? Ca va bien!_"

Marshall might've ordinarily been impressed by this, even in his diluted state, but Mary didn't give him a chance to try and eke out a response.

"Melissa, enough French," she was getting snappy, but the look on Marshall's face was making her uneasy; his cheeks were shining with sweat and he was tipping precariously to one side. "And, watch out," she admonished. "Pay attention…"

The little girl completely ignored her, "_You're_ supposed to say _'ca va bien!'_ That means, 'I'm fine.' Sort of. But, I said it for you…"

"Melissa get out of the way…" Mary tried to push her in the opposite direction, having half a mind to swing around in front of Marshall and get him to rest. "Come on; Marshall needs to sit down…"

"I'll help him!"

The woman's reflexes weren't fast enough. She should've seen it coming a mile away, what with the way Missy was practically on top of both of them, dying to be of assistance even though she hadn't said as much until so late in the game. Before Mary could leap in front of Marshall's line of vision, impeding his advancement, the eight year old had extended her hand in hopes of guiding him to a halt.

"Melissa…!"

Too late. Over-enthusiasm made her grab at his nearest crutch, nearly unhooking it from under his arm. This wasn't a feat she would've usually been able to accomplish, not being strong enough, but Marshall was so physically weak that he slipped almost immediately. The crutch came free, it's long wooden body nearly crashing down on Missy herself, who screamed and jumped out of the line of fire. On instinct, Mary seized Marshall's bicep, but he lurched sideways into the wall and, frail or not, his body weight pulled Mary right with him. In a great, humiliating mass, they came down on the floor together, lying in a heap before Mary could really register what had happened.

It was Marshall's sickened groan that brought her to her senses. Both of her legs were tangled in his good one, one of the crutches pinning him to the wall. He grimaced noticeably and his wife pulled the crutch away from his face, casting it aside with a clunk. She had every intention of hollering at Melissa for being so foolhardy, but the strident howl from her daughter made her forget her anger at once.

"I'm sorry!"

At first, Mary was afraid that she feared her mother's wrath, but when she really looked at her she saw that her eyes were fixed, unblinkingly, on Marshall. Clapping her hands over her mouth, tears streamed from her eyes so rapidly it was like someone had turned the knobs of a faucet on full blast. And Mary knew at once that this was more than shame for having caused him to fall over. A rush of memories concerning what had gone on so close to their very own driveway, including her and Marshall intertwined together with no hope of getting up, was flooding her conscious mind. She had been trapped by her skates, he by his ankle. And here was that scene – altered, yes, but that scene nonetheless – replaying in front of her all over again.

Before Mary could open her mouth to reassure her little girl, she had cried out yet again.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"

And then she ran, a complication the mother had not foreseen. She turned on her heel and bolted, pell-mell, up the hall – past the babies, past the nurse's station, around the corner and out of sight.

"Melissa! Melissa!"

There were too many things to take care of all at once. Mary couldn't wrap her head around it. First, Marshall. Her heart was pounding just thinking about where Missy might go, but Marshall was imprisoned by his ailments, and she unraveled herself as best she could, kicking the crutches out of the way.

"Are you okay?" she held out her hand, eyes skittering all over his form to see if he had been hurt.

"I think so…" he huffed, his chest heaving. "You need to go and get her – go now…"

"I can't leave you here; you can't even walk!"

"There's a nurse right down there…" he jerked his head up the hall, where a woman was wandering their direction with a clipboard. "Tell her what happened – not that she can't see – and she'll get someone to help me upstairs."

"Marshall, she didn't mean to…"

"Of course…not…" now he was puffing like he'd just taken a drag from a cigarette. "Go. There's…a million places for her to get lost in here…"

"All right…" Mary nodded, still sickened by the idea of abandoning him. "I'll come up to say goodbye."

"Yeah, fine…"

Before the nurse could get away, she hurried up the hall, doing her best not to glance over her shoulder at her distorted husband any more than she had to. Of course she wanted to get to Melissa as quickly as possible, but seeing Marshall all-but motionless on the floor wasn't evoking especially happy memories for her either. Silly and childish though it was, she wanted to be the one to pull him back to his feet – be by his side as he was thrown down or lifted back up.

Fortunately, the nurse was more than agreeable about assisting once Mary pointed out their dilemma, and paged a fellow worker to bring her a wheelchair, as there didn't seem to be any in the vicinity. This left Mary free to tear after her daughter, and by the time she made it to the nurse's station she was as out of breath as Marshall had been. It couldn't have been more than five minutes since she'd run off, but she was still nowhere in sight.

The woman working at the desk looked worried when she spotted the harried inspector, gasping in short bursts.

"Can I help you?"

"Did a little girl run through here? Little? Glasses? Overalls? Wavy ponytail?"

She was talking with her hands, the way she sometimes did when she was scouting out a witness and wanted to diminish them to their most basic traits, the better to find them. Her heart gave a huge bound when the new nurse in front of her nodded, but this gesture didn't come with the best news.

"I saw her go around the corner…" a pointed finger to where the hallway turned. "But, I was on the phone; I wasn't able to go after her. I'm sorry, ma'am…"

"No…never mind…" Mary sighed, wanting to stop and regain some of her air but knowing she couldn't. "Thanks…"

"We could page her over the loudspeaker if you think she could find her way back to this area."

"No…" she turned that down at once, not wanting Melissa's name broadcast for everyone in the hospital to hear. "That's okay."

The other woman didn't have anything else to say, and so Mary left her to her work, petering to a jog as she rounded the bend in hopes that Missy was at least somewhere on this floor. She didn't think she would get on an elevator by herself; she might be fearless in some ways, but she usually preferred companionship nine times out of ten.

This part of the hospital seemed strangely familiar, but she didn't know why, as Marshall's room was several floors above and the ICU was all the way at the other end of the building. Once the hallway curved into a loop, the inspector found herself facing another corridor full of doors on both sides. As she altered to a brisk walk past each of the rooms, she could see that the same types of patients resided in each cubicle. Women. Pregnant women.

That explained the nursery on the other side. They were in maternity, or else labor and delivery. Mary hoped no one was going to start screaming bloody murder, although it would give her a taste for when it happened to Brandi in less than two weeks.

But, it wasn't any of the women in the surrounding spaces that let out cries of discomfort or stress – it was a little girl. A rolling cart littered with surgical instruments halfway up the hall seemed to be emitting a series of whimpers. It was only when Mary was close enough that she realized the body huddled on the other side belonged to Melissa, balled on the floor and hugging her knees, tears leaking onto the legs of her overalls.

Mary was so relieved that she sighed loudly, which caused Missy to glance up, only her green eyes visible behind her knees.

"Sweets, there you are…" she was noisy, but not shouting, her voice echoing on the linoleum. "You can't run away like that; it scares me…"

Melissa snuffled, smearing snot on the fabric of her pants, "I shouldn't have touched Marshall," her admission was muffled, but Mary got the gist.

"Don't worry about Marshall; he's okay," she promised. "I'm worried about _you_," she accentuated. "It is not like you to bolt like that. Not smart, either. You know better," most parents wouldn't lecture when their child was in such a shambles, but Mary wasn't most parents and Missy was used to her. "What happened? Talk to me."

Reaching down, she held out a long-fingered hand to pull Melissa off the floor. The child hesitated for a moment, but eventually uncurled from the fetal position and allowed Mary to hoist her up and into her arms. Once there, she rested her head on her shoulder and Mary distinctly heard her yield to another round of tears. A mother's touch did that to you sometimes, even though it usually meant you were safe.

"Melissa, he's okay…" repetition might do her some good, and she rubbed little round circles on her back in hopes of soothing her. "He has to fall sometimes to get the hang of things again. It's like when you first started walking…I was a wreck, but I had to learn to let you come down on your butt now and again."

"But…you never…" she was hiccupping and Mary knew it would be sensible to get her a drink soon. "Pushed me over…I bet…"

"Sweets, you did not push him…" Mary shook her head even though her daughter couldn't see her all sprawled on her back. "I saw; you were trying to help him. Marshall knows that too."

"But, I shouldn't!" she burst furiously and her mother knew if she could've gotten a glimpse of her face that it would've been blazing with patches of red. "I shouldn't go near him because every time I try to help I just make him worse! I'm too much of a klutz to help!"

"You are _not_," pulling away; Mary faced her with a severe, no-nonsense look in her hard, burning eyes. "You are not a klutz and there is _nothing_ wrong with you. Your balance is off; you know that. It's been off your whole life, but that doesn't mean…"

"So what?!" even in just two words, the blonde was startled; Melissa had never argued with her in such a confrontational tone. "Why can't I be like the other kids? Why can't I have _one_ dad instead of none?"

This was frightening – horrifying, actually. Where was it coming from? Missy had never once, in her whole life, expressed the desire to be like everyone else. She loved Marshall and Mark and Stan, and to weed one or two of them out would rock her entire world. It had been the three of them, always, since the day Mary had made the decision to throw adoption out the window and embrace motherhood. She had assumed Melissa liked being different – as Shelley had put it, unique, special. Regardless of what Mary thought or wondered about their way of life, she had never considered trying to stake out a path to normalcy even if she did struggle with the idea some days.

Thoughts of Shelley reminded her of what the psychiatrist had said during their get-together. Keeping the family, such as it was, in tact was paramount. It was everything. Why then, was Melissa trying to break it apart? Was she really? Or did she think she wanted something more conventional in hopes it would spare her anymore unnecessary pain? One dad, one loss. Not a bunch of losses over and over again.

Mary wasn't willing to take her own theories as the gospel and tried to stay in the here and now. Swallowing, she peered into Melissa's tearstained face and placed the question back on her.

"So, who would you get rid of if you just had one dad like everybody else? Marshall? Mark? Or Stan?"

She didn't really have to answer. By the way her eyes darkened and traveled to the floor, Mary could tell that, when put that way, she wasn't interested in molding herself after her classmates.

She shrugged, her voice timid, "I don't know."

"Melissa…" Mary murmured seriously, shifting her arms to ensure her little girl would stay aloft. "Sweets. I know that school is hard for you. I do. It's hard when it shouldn't have to be. I wish to God that those kids in your class understood why you bump into things and why you can't see two feet in front of you without your glasses. But, do those things really matter?"

"To them, they do."

"But…if they saw how much the guys love you…" she went on. "They'd be jealous as hell, I'm telling you."

Melissa shook her head disapprovingly, "Bad word."

"I know," Mary sighed. "Sorry." And, after her apology, "Don't stay away from Marshall because you're afraid you're going to hurt him or that he'll end up leaving somehow. He _does_ love you; it's just not the same as it used to be, but he'll get there."

"How long do I have to wait?"

"I don't know, girly…" this sounded resigned and bleak, but it was the truth. "I wish I did. But, that's what I'm saying, you know?" Missy looked baffled until Mary elaborated. "Even though Marshall's kind of…out of the loop right now…you still have Mark and Stan. There's Jinx and Eleanor, Brandi's gonna have that baby soon…"

"And you too, right?"

She hadn't been leaving herself out on purpose, but it seemed to have become a habit; she was so accustomed to being further down the totem pole than the others. But, maybe she wasn't giving herself enough credit. After all, if there was anybody in Melissa's life who had a title, it was her mother. She might be the only second grader around without a dad, grandmother, aunt, and uncle – for she had boys and a 'mom's mom' and a 'mom's sister' and a 'Brandi's husband' – but she didn't have a Mary. She had a mom.

"Of course me too," she solidified, not wanting there to be any doubt. "Don't start calling me by my first name, or you're in trouble."

A trembling laugh warbled into the open when she said this, and Mary was comforted seeing the little one shed her meltdown like an old coat. They were driving around the roadblock already, prepared to be optimistic and good-natured once more. Feeling her maternal role more than ever, Mary leaned in and kissed Melissa's nose, and then swiped under her eyelids and the frames of her glasses to clear the tears out of the way.

Missy blinked shyly when her fingers brushed her eyelashes and it became one of those brief moments when Mary saw her own face looking back at her. Eight had been a very hard age for her too.

"You know you're my girl, right?"

Her one and only. Three pounds or thirty. Able to walk a straight line or wobbling on a tightrope. Mary suddenly wondered if she expressed that unconditional love enough, especially when the boys said it all the time.

Fortunately, however, Melissa smiled, and when she spoke she didn't sound hesitant at all.

"Sure. I know."

That was good, Mary thought. Because she might preach to Melissa about the importance of being in a big, happy family, but some days she felt just as her daughter had claimed to. That they could be like everyone else. Or even that it could be just the two of them. Hand in hand. To the bitter end.

XXX

**A/N: The dreaminess didn't last! I don't let it hang around for long before I stir up some drama! **

**By the way, if you didn't catch Mary McCormack on the series finale of Chelsea Lately last night, you should see if you can view it somewhere because she was hysterical! Also, if you check Chelsea's Instagram you can see that Mary, her husband, and her kids did the ice bucket challenge. So awesome.**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: No author's notes on this front! So, I guess we'll just jump right in!**

XXX

Melissa finally regained enough clarity that Mary felt comfortable taking her back upstairs to see Marshall before they departed for the day. On the way, she regaled her with tales of her electrifying entrance into the world. It was 'the' story, after all, and they were in hallways that filled Mary almost to the brim with memories. Marshall pushing her in the wheelchair down to the NICU, being visited by Jinx and Brandi, watching those terrible soap operas, being brought flowers by the man who would later become her husband…

It cheered Missy up, at the very least, even though it left her mother with an odd hole in her heart. Remembering Marshall as being so devoted and dedicated only reminded her of the current mess they were in. She longed to go back to those early days, and she'd be willing to reclaim the staples, the coughing, and the horror at seeing Missy tethered to wires and a ventilator in a heartbeat.

Upon reentering the man's private room, it was to find a not all together reassuring sight. A nurse that Mary didn't recognize was holding an oxygen mask up to Marshall's mouth, although she hadn't strapped it around his face. That could only mean it wouldn't be a fixture for long. At least, she hoped not.

Missy recoiled, burrowing closer to Mary, clearly confused at this new development; it also probably didn't help her fears that she had somehow maimed him by knocking him over. Marshall's eyes swiveled to the doorway at their appearance and he managed to wave a nonchalant hand as though to indicate that they shouldn't worry.

"Just a precaution…" he said, muffled beneath the plastic while the nurse made a 'tsk-tsk' sound at him for talking.

"What'd he say?" Melissa whispered, as though afraid of disturbing him if she were too loud.

"It just helps him breathe a little better," Mary explained. "He runs out of oxygen pretty quickly because his lungs were damaged. I had the same problem after you were born; only mine was because I'd inhaled so much smoke."

"So, it's not because of me?" Missy proposed tentatively.

"No, it's not."

But, luckily, the child didn't have to get very adapted to the oxygen mask. In a matter of moments, the nurse had pulled it from Marshall's mouth and wound it up, placing it by its string on a hook on the wall. Still, her face was strict as she faced the patient, no doubt about to harangue him to 'take it easy' from here on out. Mary hated that phrase.

"No more afternoon strolls today," she instructed, proving the inspector's hypothesis. "You entirely overdid it. I would suggest a nap…" as she said this, she threw a dirty look over her shoulder, which was likely her way of telling Mary and Melissa that they ought to leave him in peace. Mary just scowled right back, not about to be intimidated. "And if you feel at all short of breath again, page us immediately."

"No problem…" Marshall gave her a thin smile to go along with his lean voice and she departed, taking care to frown at the two ladies by the door before bidding her retreat.

Mary wasn't bothered in the least, but Melissa looked like she thought she'd done something wrong again, watching the door close even after Nurse Ratchet was long gone. Eyes round, she glanced at her mother for help, who merely wagged her head, giving her daughter a bounce with her arms to lighten the mood.

"Never mind, sweets," bypassing the incident entirely. "They'll have to haul us out by our ears."

"Make no mistake…" Marshall chimed in huskily, picking up their conversation from the bed. "Your mom will show them who's boss if she has to. If there's one thing I _do_ remember, it's that she's wicked when riled."

"Wicked makes me think of witches," Missy murmured.

"Well then, who's got a broom?" Mary played along, willing to paint herself as viciously as possible if it made her daughter come out of her shell and not look so scared. "I could do without the hat, though. I don't do hats, you know that."

"But, then you wouldn't really be a witch," the little girl figured.

"Says who?" the other rebutted snootily. "I don't remember that obnoxious old good witch from the south or wherever it was having a hat…"

"The north…" Marshall was speaking softly, his head sinking into his pillow, but he was going to get his two cents in. "Glenda was from the north."

"Whatever," his wife snorted. "She might've been an insufferable do-gooder, but I'll give her a little credit for not sticking that girl's version of a top hat on her head."

"Have you thought about what you're going to be for Halloween, Melissa?" the man asked, and Mary could tell just by his sweet, beautiful eyes that he was inquiring because he wanted to put her at ease after what had happened downstairs. "Only a few weeks away, right?" he must've had a chance to look at a calendar since Mary had last talked to him about dates. "A witch might not be such a bad idea…"

You had to strain your ears to hear him, his voice was so quiet, but the mother knew Missy wouldn't become absentminded for the world. As it was, she just shrugged her shoulders, tightening her grip on Mary's neck.

"I haven't decided," she confessed, almost inaudibly herself. "You were going to help me come up with something…" Eyes going downcast and speaking to the floor, "Before…you got hurt."

Marshall paid no attention to her shyness.

"I still could, you know."

Melissa wasn't going to get her hopes up and hunched her shoulders another time.

"Maybe."

In order to spare both the man whose health was slowly dwindling and the innocent little girl any more forced interactions when their hearts just weren't in it, Mary intervened. She wasn't thanking the stick-up-her-ass nurse that had gotten Melissa apprehensive all over again, that was for sure.

"Hey girly, did you finish that picture you started at the office? The one you were going to give to Marshall?"

Missy shook her head, "No."

"Well, he might like to have that before we leave. If you ask me, this place could use some personality," she added in a stage whisper, gesturing in the vicinity at the bare white walls. "Did you bring it with you?"

Extracting her arm, the child patted the front pocket of her overalls which was finally dry after having been splotched, first by ice cream and then by water. Vestiges of green pistachio still lingered, but Mary could worry about doing laundry later. The pouch had crackled when Melissa had touched it, meaning her drawing was folded up inside.

"I have crayons in my bag," Mary informed her. "Find a spot on the floor and get going, okay?"

Without waiting for sanction, she slid Missy off her hips and onto the ground, where she obediently shuffled over to the chair where Mary had left her tote earlier and fished out a box of crayons. But, she seemed not to want to move on so quickly, staring unashamedly at Marshall as though he were something foreign that she didn't even recognize, like an alien. Mary hated seeing her that way; never in her whole life had she given Marshall a look that was so passive, so obviously blank.

Sweetly, Marshall tried to smile at her, but it was somewhat inert, as he was drained and didn't want to push his limits. But, the shaky line on his face must've elbowed her into speech, because she stood rooted to the spot and looked him straight in the eye.

"I'm really sorry I made you fall down, Marshall. You're all sleepy now."

Mary chewed hard on her lip to keep from intruding on Melissa's apology, because her instinct was to reiterate, yet again, that she was blameless.

"I promise I would've been sleepy anyway," the man assured her softly, fluttering his eyes in a way that said it was taking a lot of strength to keep them open. "Trying to use a flimsy leg is hard work. You shouldn't feel bad."

"Yeah, but if you remembered what I was like, you'd know how clumsy I am."

Even from his reclining position, Marshall managed to flash his wife a look when he learned this information, but he was on his own when it came to answering.

"We all make mistakes," this was a good, all-purpose retort. "I'm not mad – just tired. Okay?"

Though she was at the rear and couldn't see her daughter's face, Mary knew just from her body language that she was not reassured. The Marshall of old would've handled this much differently. Yes, he was saying all the right things and being his gracious, generous self. There was nothing to find insulting in anything he uttered. But, Missy was so used to his logic, his ability to make her laugh, his way with words and uncanny knack for laying the groundwork for any issue so that when all was said and done, it was impossible not to believe anything he said. His intelligence might not really be gone, but his thoughtful deliberation had definitely diminished.

But, Melissa also knew a dismissal when she heard one, and Mary saw her ponytail bob up and down in a nod.

"Okay," she murmured. "I hope you like my picture."

"I'm sure I will," he swore. "I can't wait to see it."

When she dragged herself off to the corner, Mary took care to give her head a pat before venturing forward herself and sitting in the chair at her partner's bedside, replacing her bag to the floor. Not thinking this time about how he would react to a touch of friendliness, she raked her fingers through his limp hair. He moaned contentedly, which only spurred her on, half-hoping he would fall asleep so she would have a plausible excuse for Melissa about going home sooner rather than later.

"We don't have to stay long if you want to crash," she said in an undertone. "I just wanted her to see that you were all right."

"I understand…" Marshall sighed. Opening his eyes a fraction, "Is she?"

"Is she what?"

"All right?"

It was an unnecessary glance that Mary threw over her shoulder at her daughter, who was sitting cross-legged near the bathroom door, shading something red on her piece of paper. Watching her work only intensified her scholarly look, her glasses reflecting the tiles on the floor.

"She will be," Mary concluded, getting back to Marshall. "She just spooked easily, I think. I had Finkel talk to her, so at least I have somebody on call if she takes a turn for the worst."

This wasn't how she had planned to inform the man of her clandestine meeting with their old friend, but it had popped out at an opportune moment. Marshall raised his eyebrows even through his fatigue, blinking into Mary's face with something resembling incomprehension.

"You brought Shelley on?"

"Well, you thought I should, so…"

Her tone tapered out, as she had no other explanation for her behavior. This, if anything, seemed to mystify Marshall further.

"I've never known you to do anything just because I told you to."

Mary didn't want to say that, subconsciously, she had been hoping that if she acted because it had been Marshall's idea, he might do something on her behalf – something like swearing he would come back to live in her house. It was pressing on her mind, due in no small part to the fact that they had yet to discuss it since their original fight, but now wasn't the time to try again. There was no telling what Melissa might hear, and she'd had enough upset for one day.

"Well…I like to think I don't just consider myself anymore," Mary settled on, but it made her writhe inside because she was making herself sound more decent than she really was. "That, and it's not like your suggestions have sucked in the past."

"So…what did Shelley say?"

It was a moment before his question sunk in, as she had lost herself in thumbing through his hair. Sometimes, on the nights they were both home and Melissa was staying with Mark or Jinx or Brandi, she would tousle his brunette locks as they lay in bed, and he in turn would do the same to her blonde tresses. It usually led to far more than just a little rumpling here and there, but it was the intimacy and the closeness that she missed, regardless of what came later. His nails were always sharp as they dug into her scalp, and a shiver ran through her spine just thinking about it, mourning something that had once seemed so simple.

Not intending to get caught up in sentiment, Mary returned to his query.

"Nothing…that you couldn't guess. Nothing that you need to know right now."

Even as she waved him down, she thought about revealing Shelley's diagnosis that solidifying their very jumbled family should be priority one. But, this would only reinforce to him that it was essential he come home, and while that might be Mary's wish, she didn't want to wax poetic on the subject.

But, it seemed that Marshall, even when he was seconds away from sleep, still knew how to read her mind. Part of this realization was comforting to his wife. The other part was worried about what he saw.

"I guess Shelley didn't have any opinion on…whether or not…" He stalled when he glanced at Missy, who seemed to be absorbed in her picture. "…You and I should be shacking up again."

He tried to laugh, but it was flimsy and made him cough, no doubt wasting too much of his precious air. The whole thing was humorless to the woman, but she knew it was his word choice that was causing him to chortle, or else the idea that he could make the notion less epic than it really was. There was also the benefit of Melissa perhaps not knowing what 'shacking up' meant if she happened to overhear.

Still, Mary shifted uncomfortably once the subject was out in the open, unsure if she could trust herself not to go to pieces if they started rehashing things again.

"I didn't ask her about that," she claimed, which wasn't a lie. "It was mostly about Melissa."

"Naturally…" another cough before he quivered into calmness.

"But…I mean…did you have any other thoughts about it?" now that the can of worms was open, she might as well feast on them.

"I did, but…" a shrug, which looked funny while he was lying horizontal. "I don't want to make anything worse by duking it out right now. Maybe tomorrow, we can try to figure something out…"

If he'd wanted her to back off, he hadn't used a very reliable tactic. More than ever, he had piqued her curiosity, specifically by forecasting that he expected Mary to be uptight about whatever he had to say. That probably meant he hadn't changed his mind, and if that was the case, she wanted to know about it now.

"Well, if something's on your mind…" unintentionally, without conscious thought, she lowered her voice even further. "There's no sense in waiting."

It was easy to tell by his restless features that he did not want to jump in so hastily, but he also knew he'd be in more trouble if he held back, especially now that she'd expressed a desire to have him go on. He'd opened his mouth, and now he was paying for it.

"I guess…you know…" all the pauses between his phrases tested Mary's patience, and just when she thought it had been stretched to the breaking point too. "At the risk of sounding insensitive…" that couldn't mean anything good. "…Mary, I don't blame her for that Humpty Dumpty act that went down earlier…"

Her – Melissa? If that was true, and he didn't think she was at fault, then where was he going with this?

"But…I just don't want it to happen again. For her sake as much as mine."

"Marshall, I'm not…" her timbre was so quiet, she could barely hear herself. "I'm not following…"

"Maybe it's still better that I wait on…" It was his turn to dip his voice down, "Moving back in." Raising it once more, "I don't want to be on top of you two. Melissa shouldn't have to watch her step all the time; she's a little girl, I don't want to hamper her, tell her she can't run or play or…"

"She'd give up all those things to have you home."

Ordinarily, Mary would've tried a lot harder not to influence him, but she'd spoken up mostly because she read his rationalizations as being excuses. He didn't really care about stumbling over again, or limiting his step-daughter's activity. It was exactly as it had been the day before. Nothing had changed. He just wasn't ready. Plain and simple. He was only pretending otherwise for Mary's benefit.

"But, it's not really me she's getting, is it?"

There was something like resignation in his tone. He had accepted, or at least tried to accept, that his memory was failing him and in turn failing those around him. But, from the sound of it, he wanted Mary and Melissa to come to terms with it as well, and the woman couldn't speak for her daughter, but she wasn't going to throw in the towel after only four days. Until she witnessed him staking out a path for Stan's couch, Mark's spare bedroom, or his own, one room apartment, she would not believe the Marshall she loved was really gone.

"I think it _is_ you she's getting," Mary wasn't used to being the positive one, but she had to cover enough optimism for both of them. "I also think your recollections won't even have a chance of coming back if…"

Here, Marshall put a finger to his lips, indicating that she should knock it off. Using her peripheral vision, Mary could understand why. Missy wasn't coloring anymore, but had her head bowed just enough that her mother could tell she was listening, crayon poised above the paper but not moving across the surface.

Rubbing one tired eye and inclining her own head, the woman challenged herself to, somehow, get back on track. There had to be something she could say, something she could do, something Marshall wanted to hear that would propel him her direction. Her bed had been cold and empty for four long nights, his space beneath the covers longing for someone to fill it. The puncture in her chest she had sustained from his absence was growing more and more by the day.

And, in such a vulnerable state, Mary's best bet for gaining a clue was to put herself out there, hazard a lot more pain for a little bit of pleasure.

"What can I do?" she acted on her thoughts, though it made her blush furiously; the shame she had from admitting she was so dense was palpable. "Is there something I'm missing? I'm not trying to make this so hard, but I don't seem to be able to figure out what you want like I used to be able to…"

"I'm telling you what I want, Mary," he whispered. "Space. Time. A chance to make a decision. I'm not saying no. I'm just not saying yes either."

The blonde's vocal chords seemed tight when she tried to reply; the effort of being so stealthy on top of trying to keep tears at bay made her sound constricted. Leaning forward so she was inches from his newly-bearded face, she searched in desperation for some inkling of the man she'd fallen in love with.

"I can't just give up on you…" Mary choked.

"I'm not asking you to. I'm not either. Not on myself, not on you, not on us. Nothing about this is forever; at the end of the day, you'll always be my partner, my best friend…"

"I'm your _wife!"_

"Mama?"

Mary jumped so badly she almost fell out of her chair. Flinging out a hand to the bedside table in order to keep herself upright, she blinked wildly in Melissa's direction, knowing it was her who had interrupted a soon-to-be-heated discussion. While Mary had hissed her last assertion like a snake, it probably too much to hope for that Missy hadn't heard. Her wide-eyed gaze screamed uncertainty, and she kept her distance, clearly cautious about moving into the world of grown-ups. Her own universe was complicated enough as it was.

Shaking her head so forcefully that her hair flashed in a sheet around her face, Mary tried to forget everything to do with her married life and concentrate on her child.

"Yeah, sweets. What is it?"

Her lips barely moved in response, "Why are you whispering?"

"Oh, just…" when Mary cleared her throat, she sniffed without meaning to, a hint that she might've started crying any minute had she been allowed to go on. "…No reason. Marshall needs to get some sleep and I wanted him to relax."

It nauseated her to lie to Missy. She had always respected her too much to do it, at least consciously. Not counting the issue of her biological father, a topic on which Melissa herself had always claimed to want to be in the dark on, Mary had always been eternally honest. She liked to think that was part of the reason her daughter was so clever, so quick. She had come to expect the truth, and the truth taught you a hell of a lot.

This time, though, her mother simply couldn't fess up. In another time, in another place, she was going to have to if it came to Marshall needing a hiatus on his own. What was beginning to feel like a schoolgirl crush was what had Mary still holding out hope he would not abandon them. As he had already alluded to, he hadn't said no to anything.

"Did you need something, girly?" she asked to avoid an interrogation about whether or not she was being open enough.

"I just wanted to know when we were going home. I want to finish my picture there, with my markers."

Mary frowned, "You _want_ to go?"

Melissa didn't confirm, but her silence was as good as a yes.

"I guess we need to let Marshall reenergize, anyway…"

He didn't look all together sorry to hear that they were departing, but he did look sad. He knew that, once again, there was unfinished business between him and Mary and instead of leaving it on an intense note, like last time, this one just hung, heavy and hushed, in the air between them.

"If you want to head out, we can," the woman was already standing and gathering her things. "Say goodbye," nodding at her husband, such as he was.

Mary hadn't really thought about how the farewell would go even as she instructed that the eight year old get a move on. Now, though, she watched as Melissa tiptoed forward, scanning Marshall's reclined form, hands clutching her drawing like a life preserver, afraid to let go and cause him anymore harm. Maybe it wasn't the fear of injury that drove her. Maybe it was flat-out foreboding – not knowing how he felt about her, what he wanted, or what was going to happen next. She would be mirroring Mary's feelings, if that were the case.

Gathering her gumption, Missy stepped all the way up and slipped one hand free from her paper. Holding it out, she offered it to Marshall – steadfast and entirely too formal, but resolute.

"Bye, Marshall."

Not knowing what else to do, the inspector shook hands, clasping the little girl's tiny fingers in his long ones.

"I'll see you later, Melissa. I hope."

Mary's heart broke as she heard her sweet reply.

"I hope so too."

XXX

**A/N: Aw, Missy's lightheartedness was fairly short-lived! Thanks for reading and review – love to hear what you think!**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Sorry this chapter is a bit long. I hope anyone who was reading is still enjoying! I know real life gets in the way of reviewing – I totally understand that. :)**

XXX

"_Your boyfriend…or your sister…"_

_Mary cringed and shut her eyes, blocking out the glint of the silver revolver pressed into her temple. She could hear Chuck breathing his last breaths right next to her, could hear her own thundering in her ears. The darkness would come any minute, it would engulf and envelop her, and then she would see and hear nothing else – nothing ever again. Lids pinched together, she forced herself to think of Marshall, to think of something comforting and safe for the final memories of her life._

_The barrel pushed even harder into her head and then, somehow, the pressure was relieved. Pure shock made Mary open her eyes._

"_Wrong answer…"_

_The gun went off with a blast; she swung out of the cloud of dust and screamed. It seemed to echo, to last long after the repellent scent of Chuck's blood filled her nose, as she watched him stain the chalk grey floor with his gaping, fatal head wound. Though she had descended into gasps, eyes round with horror, the scream lingered and rang in her ears._

_She told herself to scream and scream and scream again, because then Marshall or Stan might hear her and come running. But, the resonance of the shriek inside her head suddenly changed as easily as if the wind had swept through and lowered it to a dry, heaving sob._

"_I want my dad!"_

"_Cassidy! I'm not gonna let you get hurt!"_

"_I want my dad!"_

_A smoke-streaked auburn ponytail bobbed through splashy, steamy sprinklers. _

"_Jump high and crawl out!"_

"_I can't!"_

_A push and a shove, hazy and black through the gloom._

"_Get out and call Marshall!"_

_A terrified shout rent the air – Cassidy's plea for her someone that would pull her back to security. _

"_I want my dad!"_

_Wails and cries and moans – tiny, squeaking, mousy moans. The darkness was lit by round fluorescent bulbs, blinding Mary in the ceiling above. She ached all over and still the whimpers seemed to hurt the most of all._

"_Where is she? Where is she; what happened?"_

_She couldn't see anything at all; only her ears seemed to be working, and the noise of a frail, frightened baby told her she needed her mother. A mother that could not reach her. A mother who could do nothing but lie in wait for inevitable bad news._

"_Three pounds?"_

_Screams. Sobs. Squeaks._

_It was Mary. It was Mary in the basement; it was Mary with her wrists chained and bound over her head, cutting into her skin. It was Mary and then in a flash it was Cassidy – clambering up and out of a window. Her bawling was Melissa's bawling, and it was Melissa who twisted and writhed, Melissa who could barely breathe, Melissa who was too little, Melissa who was falling over, Melissa whose screech went unmatched even by the birds, Melissa who was trying to run and couldn't, Melissa who flailed in order to grab a trembling hand that was being pulled under by the mouth of a roaring pick-up truck…_

"_No! No! I want Marshall!"_

_Hysteria. Unendurable pain._

"_Mom! Mama, you have to help him! Help him!"_

Mary awoke, her eyes snapping wide open, almost as though she had planned to regain consciousness at precisely that moment. With awareness came the most minuscule gasp, wrenched from her chest, but she didn't move an inch, did not squirm away from her demons. She simply lay there, still as a statue, staring at the space in front of her, trying to process that she was here, in her living room, and not being held captive, trapped in a burning building, or watching her daughter struggle to stay alive.

Her vision was out of focus at first, but when the blurs faded away, she saw that her episode had not gone unnoticed. Brandi was sitting on a stool at the island, gazing at Mary just as Mary was, unintentionally, gazing at her. By the look on her sister's face, she'd been watching for several minutes before the elder had woken up, which meant she must've shouted out or seemed restless in some way or another. Damn.

"Mare, are you okay?"

Brandi's voice was soft and tender, echoing from across the room. Slowly, though she was unsure if the younger could really see from her vantage point, Mary nodded.

She wanted to move a little more because she thought it might jar her back to the present when her mind was still stuck in her dreams. But, her fingers were rigid around the blanket someone had thrown over her. Her heart was pounding, and something about that stable sound kept her rooted in place. On the outside, she might look relatively placid, but inside, she was still racing.

Brandi slipped down from her stool and waddled into the living room when her sister began to resemble a frozen sculpture, seating herself on the edge of the coffee table. Her presence, up close, was enough to make Mary blink a few times, and she suddenly realized there were other noises in the room apart from her throbbing left ventricle. A shout from a surrounding yard, a lawn mower, crackling of leaves, the air vents humming in the floor.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Brandi reiterated. "You look a little funny."

Again, Mary only nodded, but she cleared her throat this time, which indicated she might be able to speak in another few minutes. The faces and pictures from her nightmare were beginning to lose their color, even Spanky, who always stood out above the rest.

"Can I get you something?" the younger Shannon was trying to provoke her into a verbal answer. "Are you thirsty, maybe?"

She cupped Mary's shoulder with her hand, and this was the final act that brought her to her senses. Brandi already transitioning into her role as a mother was as raucous a reality as she was going to receive.

"No, I don't…I don't want anything," her voice was throaty, but perceptible. "Where…where's Melissa?" her eyes traveled the entire room as she elbowed up on one of the throw pillows, but it was obvious her daughter was nowhere in sight.

"In the backyard with Mark," Brandi reported.

"When did he get here?" Mary didn't remember him showing up.

"About a half hour ago, when Missy was finishing her dinner. He said he thought you could use the extra sleep, so he took her out."

The inspector didn't even recall her child eating a meal. She'd stretched out on the couch to fill out a few forms from the office, nothing that would send up any red flags for those who weren't well-versed in WITSEC if they happened to catch a glimpse of them. She must've dozed off right in the middle of writing, which was a sad state of affairs indeed. Now that she analyzed her surroundings a little better, she saw that her papers were stacked on the coffee table next to Brandi. Either her ex-husband or her sister had removed them and tossed a cover over her as well.

"If you want to go back and lie down in your room for awhile, I can stay – or, I'm sure Mark can…"

"Isn't Peter supposed to come by and pick you up?"

"He can wait," Brandi threw her a warm smile. "He spends a lot of time waiting for me these days," patting her expanding bulge to indicate her offspring.

"How is Bruiser?" Mary wanted to know, mostly to avoid the pregnant one questioning her about what had woken her up, but Brandi saw through her trap in an instant.

"You know you asked me that when I got here earlier," harking back to the five o'clock hour. "He's fine. We both are. I am getting pretty tired, though…" she admitted with a shrug and a stretch, her arms over her head. "My back's been bothering me more lately."

"Then you don't need to be running around after my kid," yet again, she tried to ward off the cross-examination, but it should've been plain by now that Brandi wasn't going anywhere.

"I have Mark for that," with a jerk of her head toward the screen door in the kitchen. "And, anyway, the sooner _my_ kid gets moving, the better, so bring on the exercise."

"Not on my watch," Mary grumped. "I already did the harrowing birth experience; you aren't allowed to one-up me in that department."

"I'm not planning to, Mare, but you never know."

As if the talk about their little ones had urged her to do so, Brandi turned contemplative and quiet for a moment, caressing the side of her stomach, sighing contentedly. Maybe she wasn't going to push her luck as far as the workings of Mary's subconscious were concerned, but it seemed the older Shannon had been right when she'd assumed she was going to stick around. It was as though she had not a care in the world. Mary really, truly envied that feeling – now, more than ever.

In order to look like she was doing something, and not simply brooding, she sat up further on the sofa, rearranging the blanket around her middle, but she still couldn't take her eyes off Brandi. Discussion of Melissa and her nephew-to-be, not to mention her discombobulated dreams, had her mulling over just how much her life had changed since becoming a mother. Before Missy, she hardly ever worried about anything; her job had programmed her to be brave and to stand up; before long it had become an automatic response to danger. Not to mention, growing up with James Wily Shannon and having him bolt had somehow made her immune to something as trivial as anxiety over others.

Now though, she felt like all she did was worry – even before Marshall's accident – and almost all of it was reserved for her child. How long would Missy be unappreciated in school? When would the other kids accept her for who she was? Would they ever? What if her imbalance really turned on her one day, when she went just a beat too fast or a step too far and seriously hurt herself? What if her eyes got worse and spectacles weren't enough anymore? What if she became depressed or sick or constantly petrified because her mother and step-father were Marshals who cheated death every day? What would happen if she lost one of them – if she lost Mark or Stan?

Now she came to analyze it, Mary was surprised her head could hold so many frightening possibilities. Her nightmare suddenly didn't seem so outrageous, even though it was haunting to have Missy's hair-raising scream still following her wherever she went.

And yet, here sat Brandi – blasé, relaxed, both blissfully and foolishly naïve about what looming motherhood meant for her. The silence was going to start getting to Mary soon, as was her sister humming tunelessly under her breath, and so she decided that the questions ruminating in her mind were the best way to stamp out her lingering visions once and for all.

"Squish?"

"Hmm?"

"Aren't you scared?"

Brandi's face was absent, a blank.

"What do you mean? About what?"

The taller had been quiet for too long, making the shorter lose her thread of the conversation.

"Well…" Mary exhaled, which made her lightheaded for several seconds; it would be wise to eat something, but that wasn't registering as very important right now. "About being a mom. Doesn't it freak you out, even a little?"

Brandi cocked her head to one side, eyebrows scrunching together in the middle. It was unclear as to whether she was displaying this face because she couldn't relate to what Mary was saying, or because she didn't know why Mary was asking. Or both.

"Well…sure, I guess. Sometimes," she laughed lightly, like her answer should've been obvious. "Weren't you?"

"I didn't really have time to be," Mary enlightened her. "I spent seven months thinking the pigmy I was carrying around wasn't going to be raised on _this_ farm, and then Melissa showed up almost two months ahead of schedule and I got thrown into the deep end of the pool." As Brandi nodded, she concluded, "But, I feel like I've been making up for _not_ being scared back then ever since."

"What are you scared of?"

It was curiosity as well as puzzlement that swam in Brandi's crystalline eyes. It was slightly irritating to Mary that she truly seemed not to understand this quandary, but on the other hand, it was her perpetual innocence shining through. No matter how many terrible things had happened to her, she had always believed she would be happy one day. Perhaps her 'one day' was now, and her child's future perils weren't enough to ruin it for her.

"Is it…this thing with Marshall?" Brandi guessed. "Because, I'd definitely be afraid for my kid if this happened to Peter and our son were Missy's age. It's awful, Mary; I know it is, but…"

"It's not just this – it's not just right now," the other went on, tucking her legs up under her as she deepened into her feelings. "It's _all_ the time – since the day she was born."

"Well, but I understand that too; she was so little and she was sick…"

"But, she's not sick anymore…" Mary choked up without meaning to, confused as to why the emotion was flooding her so suddenly; Melissa no longer being unwell should bring her comfort, not sadness. "So, why do I feel like she is?"

"I…I don't know, but…"

"Brandi, I try to be like the guys…" dampness oozed from the corners of her eyes, what little makeup she had on beginning to run in streaks down her face. "I try to see her the way they see her; they think she's _perfect_ and I wish I understood it, I wish I understood why, when I look at her, all I see is what's wrong with her, what's different…"

Things that she would've never dared admit to anyone else suddenly came spilling out her mouth, as though her filter had been wiped clean away. Even as Brandi gazed sorrowfully at her and plucked a few tissues from a box on the table beside her, she continued to mourn aloud, to mourn her own shortcomings when it came to how she viewed her daughter.

"I really _don't_ think she's lesser, Squish…I don't…"

"I know you don't," Brandi whispered, handing over the Kleenex, which Mary used to wipe her eyes, but not to blow her nose, too intent on talking.

"I don't want her to change, but I want her to fit in, I want her to find her way; she can't spend her life on the outside looking in…" she'd never observed Melissa in the classroom, something she was sure would be far too tough when she knew her little girl had not a single companion. "That's how it was for me after…"

"After dad left."

There was no confirmation, but the older's lack of correction to Brandi's assumption was confirmation enough.

"And, I know she's better off than I was – she's _light years_ ahead of where we were…" flashes of empty booze bottles, dank living rooms, and furniture on the curb in the New Jersey suburbs spun themselves at random through Mary's mind. "But, she _said_ to me today that she wants to be normal – one dad, that's it. I mean, she backpedaled about as soon as she'd opened her mouth, but…"

"Mary, she's just a little girl…" Brandi finally found an opportunity to interrupt, and her comment might seem wildly apparent, but Missy's intellect sometimes blinded people to how young she really was. "She's only a little girl. She's confused right now; she doesn't know what she wants…"

"I have to figure out what I'm going to do with her…" the inspector switched gears too abruptly for Brandi to keep up, but fortunately she was able to get another word in to find out where her sister was headed.

"What you're going to do with her?"

"Marshall doesn't want to come home."

It was the first time she'd said as much out loud. So far, she hadn't needed to. Mark and Stan had heard of her husband's wishes, having been unsuspecting witnesses to their disagreement on the subject. She certainly hadn't articulated or hinted anything to Missy. So, it was really Brandi who got the original taste of the idea, and she seemed aghast as Mary finally blew her nose on her used tissue. It was painful to see her baby sister looking so horror-struck; it made things seem exactly as bad as Mary already thought they were.

"What?" her voice was muted when the single phrase slithered into the open. "Why not? What happened?"

"That's just it…" a sniffle. "I don't know. I have no idea. He just says he isn't ready – I don't even know what that means!" emphatic though she was, she didn't have the energy to really yell, and settled for shaking her head at her own lack of comprehension. "So, I have this shrink telling me that the be-all, end-all is keeping the family together…"

"Shrink? What shrink?"

Mary ignored her, "For Christ sakes. How the hell am I supposed to do that when Marshall is running for the hills the first chance she gets? And Melissa is telling me she's done with the whole 'boys' crap…"

"She didn't say that, Mary…"

"So, who do I listen to? Finkel or my kid?"

The predicament was huge and it was real for Mary, and yet after she finished hurling problem after problem at her pregnant sister, she seemed to hear herself as though on repeat, babbling and blustering like a moron. Every time she allowed herself to lose control, she felt an immense amount of regret she couldn't ever explain; the release of stress never had the effect on her that it should because she was so bothered by showing any weakness.

In spite of all that, she continued to dab at her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath while Brandi sighed and clearly tried to determine what she should say first. Mary had given her a lot to process, and had often scolded her for not being understanding enough or smart enough when it came to matters like these.

But, in typical Brandi fashion, that didn't mean she was going to back away from the opportunity to impart even a little bit of whatever wisdom she had. But, the first thing she uttered had nothing to do with advice; it was a confession of her own.

"Mare, I had no clue things had gotten this bad…" this only seemed to compound Mary's troubles, but on some level she was glad Brandi recognized the seriousness of the situation. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"What would I have said?" she chortled darkly. "You can't make Marshall live here anymore than I can…"

"But, I could've done something – helped out more."

"You've done enough," Mary promised, not wanting her to bemoan her lack of assistance for long. "I shouldn't have said anything _this_ time…" there was that regret, tunneling to the surface. "I don't need anybody patting me on the head."

"It's too late now," Brandi butted in, and she sounded sharp and severe, something Mary wasn't expecting. "You can't sweep this under the rug. There's nothing wrong with being upset…"

"Says you…"

"There's _not!_" it was very strange to have her younger sibling start reprimanding her, but she didn't care enough at the moment to ward her away too heartily. "Your life is all upside-down! Do you really want to make it harder by beating yourself up just because you come undone now and again?"

"Is this going somewhere?"

"Look, Mary…" Brandi sighed tiredly, as though the older might be giving her a bit of a migraine with how rapidly she jumped from distraught to stand-offish. "I'm not going to pretend I know what the worrying is like – at least not when it comes to your kids. How _would_ I know?"

This was probably a rhetorical question, and so Mary used the time in-between to toss her Kleenex back to the coffee table, where they fluttered down on top of her papers from the office. Brandi's eyes just barely flickered toward the movement before she persisted with her speech.

"But, I like to think I have some idea what it's like to go crazy when someone you love is in danger…"

"How's that?"

"Do you think it was easy to get a phone call and hear some stranger on the other end say you'd been shot and that mom and I had better get to the hospital before it was too late?"

It was like Mary had been pumped full of lead all over again – or, at the very least, punched square in the gut. As the older – and, oftentimes, more responsible – sister, she'd always told herself that she was the only one who spared extra thought for those in her life who were in a tight spot. Of course, she wasn't really stupid or insensitive enough to believe that Brandi didn't worry, but the fact that Mary's hazardous profession had followed her around all these years? She never would've estimated something like that.

After all, Brandi was the one who had gotten her into the whole abduction mess, and the inspector had been gunned down not even a year later. She hadn't entirely trusted her sister during that time, and so she'd never considered how she might've felt about her staring death in the face. On top of that, the shooting was hardly the only time Mary had been ensnared in a treacherous position. There was the fire and the uncertain aftermath as well.

Brandi must've been able to tell that the taller was indexing her very forthright answer, because she opted not to wait for her to react.

"I thought you were going to die…" in a cruel twist of fate, the characteristically more dramatic of the two did not shed a single tear, but continued on in a firm, even voice. "More than once. It happens over and over, like a bad dream…"

Mary certainly knew about those.

"So, I'm afraid for this baby, but how can any fears I have for him be any worse than how scared I've felt for you all these years?"

Mary could say nothing modest enough to match this, and so kept silent, but if Brandi got any mushier she was going to need a second stock of tissues.

"Mare, if you're as whacked out over Missy as I've been about you over the years, then I know how you feel – at least, sort of," the afterthought helped, because Mary didn't think that Brandi really understood at all, though was grateful she was trying. "I don't know what to tell you to do. I don't know what I'd do if it were me…"

"It wouldn't be you," a disruption in the flow. "Sure, Peter might have some dreadful mishap down the road, but you'll never have to deal with this convoluted world I live in – where dad's name is Mark and Marshall's some kind of God until he forgets which end is up and then all bets are off and Stan's some kind of premature grandfather, but God forbid we put a label on it…"

Brandi opened her mouth, possibly to contradict all of Mary's cynicisms about the men in her life, but the latter beat her to the punch.

"It seemed fine until this happened." This time, Brandi frowned, not grasping what 'it' was, but Mary was there to enlighten her. "Bizarre, yeah. I never thought I would have a child that would live in a family that's _this_ trendy – I never thought I'd have a child! But, it happened this way and I dealt with it and even though I thought it was weird at times, I didn't really care because Melissa was happy, and now…"

"Now what?"

"How can one loose car send the entire train off the rails?"

Even Brandi, who was not the sharpest crayon in the box when it came to things like metaphors, seemed to be able to grapple with what her sister was saying. It was easy to tell by the way her clear eyes turned sympathetic and round, perfect sapphires in her eternally teenage face. In the quiet that followed, certainly not the first lapse of the evening, Mary became aware that she had never wanted guidance from her little sister. Spilling her guts and leaking still more tears had been therapeutic at best – said to someone who wouldn't judge her or seem superior about how to handle the tailspin she was currently living in.

You could say what you wanted about Brandi being a little dim-witted on occasion, but her kindness usually went fairly unrivaled. Even in her most frustrating years, Mary had never doubted how much she cared, how fully she loved. And, right now, she needed all the love she could get.

"Marshall's the loose car, huh?" was her eventual response, with a smirk to go along with it.

"More like the caboose that just blew up."

Brandi laughed at that, though stopped quickly, eying Mary as though she thought she was about to be smacked for being insensitive. When the inspector just grumbled, she knew she was out of the woods.

"Mare, I wish I could say something besides, 'I'm sorry.' It probably doesn't mean anything…"

"Not at this point, no," now she was the tactless one.

"But, no matter what Missy says, you knows she just misses Marshall – that's all there is to it. And, that shrink – whoever she is – is probably right…" evidently, she listened more than Mary gave her credit for. "Tearing everything apart isn't going to help…"

"I'm not tearing everything apart!" Mary burst angrily. "_Melissa's_ the one who told me she's sick and tired of being an outcast because she doesn't have a father…!"

"But, _you_ know that she does; she's probably only saying that because she doesn't want to get hurt if she ends up losing Marshall…"

"She's _not_ going to lose him!"

"Not if you keep working hard to bring them back together…"

"You don't think I've been working hard?!"

"Mary…"

Their scuffle was brought to an untimely end by the back door opening and closing, making a squelching sound on the runners. Mary almost shoved Brandi out of the way in order to make it clear that they were not arguing depending upon who would see them, but then remembered she was with child and that laying a hand on her – even lightly – was taboo. Instead, she settled for leaping to her feet and striding past her, mouth still open mid-sentence, likely to feed her yet another platitude.

It was unclear as to why a nice, tender moment between sisters had suddenly erupted into something far touchier, but Mary didn't have time to dwell. Her skin were sticky all around her eyes where she'd cried, and it was taking some fast work to smear her mascara away so that she didn't look like the wreck she was. In the kitchen stood Mark and Melissa, the younger holding a big green ball filled with air, rotating it absentmindedly in her fingers.

"Hey, I didn't know you were up…" Mark announced when he saw Mary coming, but scowled when he got a closer look; apparently, her efforts to cover up her tear tracks had not been successful. "Missy Jean and I were just throwing the ball around; she's getting a pretty good arm…"

Secretly, the mother didn't think this was true. Missy's coordination was almost as bad as her balance and her pitching stance had never been what some might call expert. Nonetheless, it was very like Mark to pretend otherwise, though he still looked skeptical of her features. He wasn't the only one. Melissa herself hadn't said a word, blinking in bewilderment instead.

"Did you have fun, girly?" Mary asked, but registered immediately that her voice was foggy sounding, probably from her stuffed-up nose. "I'm sorry I missed dinner, but I might be able to scrounge up some cookies to have for dessert…"

"How come you fell asleep?" the little girl wondered, presenting as timid and withdrawn. "Before you ate? That never happens…"

On accident, Mary allowed her eyes to wander over to her ex-husband's, which gave Melissa all the meaningful glances she needed to know that, whatever her mother's answer was, it was going to be whitewashed.

"It was just a long day for me, sweets," she cast off what she hoped was a casual shrug. "I haven't been back to work since…you know, all this craziness started…" calling at as such put a knot in her stomach; it was so informal, so bare for such a huge disruption of their lives. "Probably tried to do a little too much today. You know how I am."

Unfortunately, Melissa _did_ know how she was. The model in front of her didn't equate with that woman.

"But, what's wrong with your eyes?" And, before Mary could come up with a good excuse, "Were you crying?"

She looked so sad and so scared, and when the woman considered everything her daughter had done since waking up that morning – conversing with strangers at the police station and the excitement of Marshall trying to walk immediately downplayed by his falling spell – she didn't know how she wasn't exhausted too. And, as fibbing was getting a lot easier than it used to be, Mary didn't think twice about waving Missy's worries away.

"No, I wasn't," she was careful not to sniff or do anything else that might give her away. "I'm fine, Melissa. I'm perfectly fine," now she wasn't just expanding the truth, but taking it to new, far riskier levels. "Do you want some cookies, or not?"

Gnawing on her lip, still spinning the ball in her hands, Melissa knew that the final question was one that signaled she had better stop asking what was wrong and leave well enough alone. You only had to spend two minutes with Mary to know that she hated being antagonized when she was already upset, and Melissa had been her daughter for eight years. Pushing those buttons was never a good idea.

"I guess so."

"All right, well go look in the pantry and see what there is. Brandi can help you if you can't reach."

Reluctantly, looking pouty, Melissa tossed the ball to Mark, and he caught it without hesitation, Brandi leaving her post in the living room to join her niece in the quest for treats. Mark looked like perhaps he wanted to leave the second grader with some parting words of his own, something on a more cheerful note, but refrained and turned to Mary instead. Her bedraggled appearance was not hard to miss.

"Not to be crass, gorgeous…" it was the first time his flirty nickname made her jump, not because she was in any way turned on, but because it was such a contrast to how she felt. "But, you don't look so hot. You're really pale. Missy told me what happened at the hospital…"

"Gee, I'm glad word is getting around about how my husband might be leaving me…"

"You know it isn't like that," Mark corrected her. "You know it's just…"

"Frankly, I do not 'know' a Goddamn thing!" she hissed, her ire still spiked from her unfinished confrontation with Brandi, who was now crackling so loudly in the cupboards that she felt certain her daughter couldn't hear what they were talking about. "I wish everyone would quit acting like I'm supposed to accept what's going on without any doubt that one day it'll be all right again! Near as I can tell, I am miles away from that happening…"

"All right, poor choice of words, then," the man was a lover, not a fighter, and didn't want to rile the beast. "I'm just saying. You're starting to look kind of sick," this wasn't flattering, but it was probably accurate. "Don't start letting yourself go because you're so wrapped up in Marshall and Missy…"

"Yeah, about her…"

Mary was driven by the desire to act, the desire to do something. She'd been sitting around long enough. The last four days had felt like an eternity, and if she was sick of anything – as Mark had put it – it was of her complete idleness when it came to her mess of a life. So far, it had been nothing but talk – word after word to try and convince Marshall that he had wanted to marry her, that he _was_ married to her, and that if he were himself he wouldn't have to think twice about it.

Her motivation was blind and thoughtless; no plans had been formed, but doing something had to be better than doing nothing.

"You think you could come back and see her tomorrow?"

It wasn't unexpected to have Mark find this request odd because you usually didn't have to ask for the boys to come calling for their favorite little girl.

"Doesn't she have school?" he inquired.

"I meant after school."

"Sure…" he sounded tentative though, like he knew Mary was up to something, even if she didn't know what that something was. "But, you know I see her just about every day; I had assumed I'd be here, anyway…"

"I just want her to have you around," Mary insisted. "She needs that stability with someone."

"She has you."

"She needs a father."

Mark appeared thoroughly stunned upon hearing this, and was much too obvious looking over his shoulder to see if Melissa was nearby. Fortunately, she and Brandi had taken the cookies to the living room and were chatting, covering up the second, more serious discussion in the kitchen.

Mary had never seen her ex's sweet brown eyes so intense; he wasn't angry, but he was definitely stumped – even flabbergasted.

"I don't know what you're thinking, Mare, but you need to think a little harder…" he advised in an undertone, speaking as though the woman were five, incapable of adult rationalization. "I'm not a father," now he was so quiet she had to read his lips. "I'm a Mark. We decided that a long time ago."

Deep down, Mary had no intentions of shaking that up; she wasn't going to proposition that Mark step into a role he had never owned. It was too much for him after all this time living differently, and certainly too much for Melissa when she'd never referred to anyone as 'dad' in her whole life. It was exactly what she had said it was. She needed a diagram for some sort of security in her child's life if Marshall never came around, and Mark was her best bet at that happening, father or no father. A more permanent fixture didn't mean a brand new title.

Perhaps thinking he had been too rash in shutting her down, Mark suddenly smiled warmly, his eyes turning soft and boyish once more.

"I don't want you to think I'm walking away from anything. I'm happy to do anything I can. But, don't count your chickens before they hatch, all right?"

On that philosophical note, he leaned in and pecked her cheek before patting her arm and lumbering off to the living room, apparently through with parental roles for the night. This left Mary to mull over the fact that she was lucky, really, that Mark was so selfless. Most men would jump at the chance to be more involved in their daughter's life, but he wouldn't do it at Marshall's expense. He, unlike the confused mother, really seemed to believe it was only a matter of time before he was one of three once more. And nothing could make him disturb a perfect oasis like that.

XXX

**A/N: Sister time…confused Melissa…Mary getting ideas in her head – ah, angst!**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Hope this is still holding interest! You never know, and I never think my stories are anything to write home about (so to speak,) so I am grateful for anyone looking in at all.**

XXX

By the following afternoon, Mary was more lucid than she had been the day before, but also entirely more wound up, like she had downed a dozen cups of coffee. This didn't make for the best disposition. She was a zombie as she sat with Mark in a plastic booth at a local fast food restaurant, and yet still had moments where it was almost impossible for her to sit still. Her hands fluttered around her napkins, she took miniscule bites of the French fries she had ordered, but would then put the box down almost immediately afterward. She hadn't chosen anything with caffeine because she wanted to bank on a good night's sleep that evening, something she had not managed the night before.

Mark and Melissa sat across from her, Melissa almost completely mum, nibbling the corner of her own French fry, Mark looking like he was dying to ask Mary what her problem was, but was refraining from doing so in front of the little girl. After a few minutes, he seemed to conclude that he wasn't going to get anything resembling a straight answer out of his ex-wife and turned to the child instead.

"Did you have a good day at school, Missy Jean?"

Mary was so busy, her mind so full, that she almost missed the shake of the head directly in front of her. If it hadn't been for Mark catching the gesture, it would've gone entirely unnoticed.

"You didn't?" he questioned. "Why not?"

It was time to get it together. Mary might be in a shambles, but Melissa was clearly in ruins as well, even though she was much less theatrical. What sort of mother became so immersed in her own sordid existence that she couldn't take two seconds to pay attention to her own flesh and blood? Though, most of Mary's attitude came from a manic craving to do right by Melissa, however misguided she really was underneath.

"What happened, sweets?" in her desperation to appear involved, she got tongue tied, leaning forward in the booth, causing Melissa to stare at her like she had damn near lost her mind.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" it sounded like a demand, not a question.

"You look like you're scared or something. And…" she glanced around the restaurant, as though bystanders might start gawking. "You're shouting."

This was news to Mary, who tried to replay her words in her mind. She didn't remember hollering, even though she'd only spoken a few seconds ago.

"I…I was just loud, that's all," she fumbled. "I didn't mean to be. And, I'm not scared. I just don't like hearing that you had a bad day," there, that was a little better, although Mark still had one eyebrow quirked, like he wasn't convinced of her clarity. "What made it bad?"

"Well, it doesn't really matter…"

"It does," Mark broke in before Mary could articulate as much. "Of course it does. Don't you want to talk about it?"

By the look on her face, she wasn't at all interested in sharing, especially not with a Mary who was so hectic. But, when her mother sat back, trying to appear the picture of calm even though it was the furthest thing from how she felt inside, she seemed to decide that she had no choice.

"Whenever Miss Newman was teaching, I didn't raise my hand at all; I didn't answer any questions."

"That doesn't sound like you," Mark observed. "Just not in the mood? More of a listener today?"

"I tried to pay attention, but I didn't hear her a few times, and she didn't get mad, but I knew she was disappointed in me."

Mary knew of no other eight year old that would be able to distinguish a teacher's annoyance from her disillusionment, or else perplexity, but she knew one thing. Disappointment was like death in Melissa's world. Her high intelligence had always had her leaps and bounds above the other kids, and so when she did make a mistake, it was rare and it shamed her, even if the other individuals involved barely bat an eye.

Mary well remembered an occasion many years earlier, her daughter had been about four, and it was probably the only time in her short little life she had tested the option of defiance. Mark and Marshall had just finished putting together a swing set in the backyard, complete with a silver slide and monkey bars. Both had warned her not to use the monkey bars because they hadn't tightened all the screws. Mary still wondered, to this day, if Melissa had disobeyed purely because she wanted to see what the men would do.

Predictably, she'd fallen off and sliced her knee open, but that had been the least of her worries. Marshall had completely lost his shit. It was the only time Mary had ever seen him so livid with a child so small.

"_Missy, I told you no – Mark told you no! Why wouldn't you listen? ...Now, see what happened? You got hurt, and you could've been hurt much worse! You know better than this; I'm really disappointed…"_

That word – disappointment – had stuck with her for a long time afterwards. Marshall's uncharacteristic cynicism toward her had reduced her to tears, probably because she salivated over his approval and affection. Until now, Mary hadn't thought about that day in years. It was the first time she realized that Marshall had probably been so fuming because he'd been scared.

"What made you think she was disappointed in you?" the blonde asked, leaving her recollections in the past where they belonged.

Melissa was prompt, "Because after lunch she asked me if anything was wrong, since I wasn't participating and she thought I was having trouble listening."

Uh, oh. Missy might think school was where she belonged, but if the goings-on with Marshall were bleeding over into her academics, things had reached yet another peak. Regardless of her battles with her peers, Melissa did love school; she loved Miss Newman and she loved to learn. The loss of that thirst for knowledge was almost too much for Mary to bear, mostly because she knew the Marshall of old would be devastated if he knew it was occurring.

"What did you tell her?" she goaded in a would-be-polite way, but she was still antsy for the rest of the story.

"I said it was nothing."

Mary was fully prepared to jump all over this, but Mark was quick to nudge his way in.

"But, it's not nothing, Missy Jean. I mean, were you distracted because of Marshall?"

"I guess so…"

"You could tell your teacher that," the man elaborated. "I met her, Missy. She's very nice. She would understand – she might even want to help."

"I don't want to tell her," the smallest smidgen of insolence resided in this command. "Then the other kids might find out."

There was no sense in asking what was wrong with that. Mary already knew, and it seemed Mark did too, because he didn't expound on that topic. Once again, like fire alarms and sirens and warning bells, the term, 'different' beat itself into Mary's skull like a sledgehammer. The last thing the second grade needed was to learn that their favorite punching bag now had a step-father who couldn't tell the difference between her and a long lost niece.

"Maybe mom could talk to Miss Newman," Mark suggested, but then appeared regretful because he hadn't actually cleared this with Mary. "I'm just saying…" trying to backtrack. "She could make sure it stays between the two of you."

Melissa just shrugged, looking vacant and uninterested – not necessarily sad, but certainly not happy. She was a shell, a crust of her former self and nothing, not even the psychotic glint in Mary's eye, could perk her up. It was such a contrast to who she really was – all the vibrancy, the enthusiasm, the thirst for learning, had been sapped out of her. Mary hated to think that after just a few days that she was getting used to it, accepting this change in behavior as the norm. Because, no matter how long it lasted, this Melissa could never truly be the daughter she had raised thus far.

"Why would Miss Newman want to know about Marshall, anyway?" the little one hummed. "She's only met him a few times."

"Because she likes you, Missy Jean," Mark was becoming more and more adamant, perhaps to provoke the child into more emotion. "Doesn't she?"

"Of course she does," Mary butted in, not up for hearing another noncommittal, 'I guess so.' "You know she does."

Stimulated by the woman's attempt to take charge, to not have Melissa dictate anything with her waffling, Mark bounded right back in, deciding on the spot that his idea had merit. To hell with what Missy thought. They were the parents, right?

"We'll have mom give her a call," this produced no reaction whatsoever, except in her eyes, which looked only slightly more downcast. "Then she'll understand why you're not quite yourself these days."

Likely without the energy or the want to argue, Melissa simply sucked on the straw from her drink, but all that came from within was a gurgling sound, meaning the cup was empty. She'd barely touched her fries, pushing them aside almost the moment they'd arrived, and had settled for downing her beverage to look like she was ingesting something. Hearing the last few bubbles rise in the bottom of the glass, Mary shook her own drink to see if she had any left, slipping her lips around the tiny cylinder to lap up the last drops. It was also an excuse not to talk for a few seconds.

"Can I get some more lemonade?" Melissa eventually asked after removing the lid from her cup and crunching on a few pieces of ice. "I drank all of mine."

"Yeah, go ahead," Mark nodded toward the fountain. "Let me know if you need help reaching."

But, without another word, she slid out of the booth and dragged herself over to the display as though her feet were weighed down. Today, she was back in her denim overalls, newly washed and stiffer on her knobby knees. The weather had turned cooler and she wore a floppy red jacket over the white T-shirt she had on beneath the bib. That tiny splash of crimson seemed to be the only color in a drab, grey world.

Once she was gone, however, it gave Mark clearance to drop some of his act and his first task was zoning in on Mary.

"What is up with you?" it almost roused her to have him sound slightly irritated with her; it restored some of her fire, weeded out a little of her lethargy. "You look like a ghost…"

"Thanks a lot."

"Are you not sleeping?" by the way his eyebrows inched together, Mary could tell that she wouldn't be able to lie; he already knew something. "Missy said she heard you wandering around in the kitchen in the middle of the night…"

"And what was she doing up?"

"Search me," Mark quipped. "But, I think you're starting to lose it, Mare. I don't blame you, it's not that…"

"Funny. It sounds like blame to me," she sniped mulishly.

"It's concern," he rephrased. "For what it's worth, I'm not the only one who thinks you need to do something to get yourself back on track. Brandi…"

"Oh, Brandi!" Mary spluttered, instantly lamenting the way she had tried to pour her soul out to her sister the day before; she should've known she couldn't keep her mouth shut. "That blabbermouth! Did she meet you behind the bleachers to tell you I've gone postal? Doesn't she have anything better to do than gossip about me?"

Mark sighed, familiar with a Mary that rapidly became frantic when anybody set out to judge her. She'd never cared what other people thought or took their opinions to heart – minus Marshall's. If you asked her, everyone was jumping the gun on thinking she was about to have some sort of mental breakdown. It was only recently that she had started declining, and that could be explained away by Marshall's desire to start his life without her. Could anybody really expect more? Was that fair?

Her ex-husband looking weary, refusing to say anymore until he could find the appropriate words, enabled Mary to rethink sparring with him. Raking her fingers through her bangs, which were lank and beginning to hang in her eyes, she continued to feel the jittery sensation in her limbs that longed to do something. That was what people like Mark and Brandi didn't understand. She was _trying_ to act. It was figuring out how that was the problem.

Rubbing her eyes, she chose to return to the man's original question, though her honest answer wasn't an encouraging one.

"No, I didn't get much sleep last night," she went back to fiddling with her fries so she wouldn't have to look him directly in the eye. "It was probably that damn nap. It got me all out of whack."

"Then, what are you doing here?" elbowing her further forward. "I could've easily taken Missy out on my own and then you could've gone home and caught up on some rest…"

"Because I needed to talk to you."

Now he looked frightened, although in a slightly exhausted way, like he wasn't sure he could deal with Mary and whatever insane notion she had cooked up. Mark might've been through his share of immaturity in his youth, but he was always very even-tempered, one to go with the flow and do what was easy even if it wasn't conformist. That was probably one of the reasons he and Marshall got along so well.

"About what?" in every syllable, Mary could ascertain that he didn't really want to know, but was aware he was going to find out anyway.

Taking a deep breath, the inspector reminded herself that she couldn't go careening in a nosedive when it came to what she was about to say. She really and truly did not want to turn everything upside-down; she'd had quite enough of that in the past few days to last her a lifetime. But, nonetheless, she could not pretend that Marshall might soon begin keeping his distance, and while she knew nothing could really erase Melissa's eventual hurt if that were to happen, making the transition easier was her goal. Surely Mark would understand that.

"I think – soon – I need to prepare Melissa for Marshall living apart from us."

"And, what does that have to do with me?" Mark warbled apprehensively.

"You're her father…"

But, before she could get any further, she leapt about six feet in the air when Mark pounded the table with his fist, shutting her up in an instant. They were lucky Melissa had gone to the window to watch the other children running around in the play complex; she was too far away to be privy to his sudden outburst. Mary shook her head and was about to ask why he was having such a tantrum, but he had that covered.

"Enough of this," he was breathing hard; Mary was startled by how different, how ferocious he looked when he was pissed; it was like an entirely new man. "I thought maybe you'd get this idea out of your head after you brought it up yesterday…"

"I'm not saying that…"

"You listen to me!" now he was pointing his finger; it was inches from her nose, his voice an intense, low-pitched hiss. "This is not the answer. I'm not going to force Melissa to start looking at me like I'm a dad, like I can replace Marshall…"

"That's not what I mean…!"

"Then you better explain, and quick, because if whatever you have in mind is even remotely connected to me moving in and playing house with you two then I am not on board."

"Then, run!" Mary became very infuriated very quickly when he would not even give her an opportunity to get a word in edgewise and threw all sense of decorum out the window. "You go ahead and ditch us! I forgot you were never interested in being a father and gave up your role the second you learned you'd have to take some responsibility!"

The minute she said it, she knew it was a mistake. Humiliation and disgrace had never rushed her so quickly, flooded her entire being as though she were suddenly drowning in water, unable to breathe. Mark looked as though she had hit him square in the face, his frustrated nature instantly replaced with a look of agonizing pain, of defeat. Talk about disappointment.

Slowly, he sat back in his booth, possibly to avoid reaching across the table and strangling Mary. It was a sign of remarkable integrity that he did not. When he finally spoke, it was to an ex-wife that was gaping soundlessly at him, knowing there were no words to make up for what she had just accused him of in her ongoing madness.

"As I remember it…" Mark struck each word so forcefully that his articulation seemed heightened; he didn't want Mary to miss the sternness of his points. "Someone – someone that was _not_ me – had some trouble tackling the responsibility herself. Like the responsibility of telling me she was pregnant with my child."

Patches of pink rose like dueling flames in Mary's cheeks and she swallowed hard telling herself, once again, not to make excuses. Any justifications she might come up with died on their way to the surface anyway. Mark glaring at her with his arms crossed didn't invite her to push him any further.

"Marshall is the one with the memory lapse, not me," the way he wouldn't stop staring at her was chilling; she longed to turn away, to take back her flare-up because she knew how unfair it had been. "What I remember is being asked – _pleaded_ with – to share _my_ child. And I stepped down. For _you_."

Mary didn't need the reminder; in fact, it was just making her feel worse. She could recall perfectly those days when Melissa had first come home from the hospital that they had negotiated logistics and she, hormones in a hand basket, had practically begged Mark on her hands and knees to work with their version of joint custody. Because she was so hopelessly in love with Marshall that she'd wanted her little girl to know him as a father, if not more. And he had done exactly what he'd said. He had agreed, with Stan right behind him, to play a vital character, but not a labeled one. He could've asked for so much more. And he never had.

For the first time, Mary felt like asking him why on earth he'd been that selfless, but she'd just learned. He cared about her and he cared about Melissa. End of story.

"I…" her throat was dry when she finally determined it was safe to interject, although she was cautious. "I'm…I'm sorry, Mark," she prayed she would not start crying, because she didn't want him to think he had to baby her when she'd just insulted him. "I…I wasn't thinking."

This still sounded like an excuse, but it was the only explanation she could give that wasn't riddled with validations. As it was, Mark still looked put-out but, fortuitously, he left his previous beefs with Mary behind and got back to the issue at hand.

"If you think I am turning this down because I don't want to be a father, you're wrong…"

"I know that; I don't know what I was…"

"It's because I _know_ that this is not what's best for Missy. You do not produce a father out of thin air," Mary hadn't intended to make the operation look like a magic trick, which was how he was presenting it. "Our way has worked for eight years. I don't see why it can't now."

A door had opened here and, though hesitant, the woman decided that she could step through it.

"Because the old way may become obsolete," there was no getting around that. "All I really wanted to ask you was if you would consider stepping in a little bit more – not stepping _up_…" she didn't want him to think she was discounting his already active place in Missy's existence. "Stepping _in_. Being a bigger fixture…"

"And if Marshall recovers, do I back off again?" he was beginning to sound churlish, and so Mary was anxious to get a move on.

"No. No, that's not what I mean," her hands fanned about her face, rearranging the napkins and the rest of the trash as she babbled on. "But, like…this school thing…" she needed to land on something concrete or Mark was going to get fed up again. "I want to present a united front, either when it comes to explaining to her teacher what happened to Marshall or with that stupid gifted program…"

"Isn't that an oxymoron?"

"You have to sign those forms anyway, and if I don't get a jump on that soon, Melissa is going to pitch a fit. She wants in there and she wants in there now."

Like it or not, ready or not, Mark couldn't deny that his presence was needed when it came to the child's education. Thanks to Regina Hodges, who believed in two parents alone, he was required if she was going to be placed in a suitable classroom. Recognizing this like the rational being he was, he nudged himself back to the edge of his seat, running his hand over the top of his short, buzzed haircut. Mary could tell just by looking at him that he was not completely on board, but he wasn't so worked up anymore. That was something.

"Have you even given anymore thought to that class?" he inquired neutrally.

"No, but I can't sit on it forever. And, if you ask me, I won't have to go to Miss Newman for her to get the skinny on Marshall. I guarantee _she'll_ call _me_ to tell me Melissa's not participating. Just add it to the list…"

"All right, well…I'll sign anything you want, whatever you decide," apparently, there were more important matters ahead, because he didn't appear to have two seconds to devote to any gifted program. "And, I am happy to spend more time with Melissa. But…"

There was a momentous pause here, one where he undoubtedly wanted to make sure Mary was listening, that she wasn't going to try and fill his head with anymore ludicrous ideas. In the split second he had for his words to sink in, his eyes strayed to the left to see to it that Melissa wasn't coming any nearer.

"I'm not stepping on any toes, and you know what I mean. I won't do it," it was still peculiar to see him so serious, so grown up. "And, I am no marriage counselor, but I think you need to sort out what's going on with _you_ and Marshall before you work on Missy and Marshall." This was unforeseen, and Mary frowned, but she should've known the man wasn't done yet. "He is still your husband, Mare, and these things don't end themselves on their own. Figure out if he really plans on leaving, even just for a little while, and go from there."

The blonde would've loved to do that, would've loved to be able to analyze Marshall's thoughts like she used to be able to and establish whether or not she believed he was serious or merely tentative. If it was the latter, she could handle it; there would be a light at the end of the tunnel. The alternative, she didn't like to think about. It still baffled her to no end that Marshall might really feel nothing at all for her anymore. He _was_ supposed to know that she was still his partner, and yet their interactions had felt nothing like their partnership, let alone a marriage.

"I know you're trying to be all gallant by only thinking about Missy and how this is going to affect her…" in the midst of her thoughts, Mark was still in the throes of scrutinizing her. "But, it's time to think about you too. She will sink like a stone if you don't deal with your own crap and it keeps festering like this."

Not very eloquent, but there it was nonetheless. Subconsciously, Mary was pretty sure she had been purposely avoiding a knock out, drag down discussion with Marshall concerning all the ins and outs of their relationship. For one thing, it would be time consuming; he had eight years to catch up on. For another, she never could tell if he even wanted the details. She hadn't forgotten how he had requested Abigail when he thought they'd still been dating. Maybe that was where he wanted his feet to touch ground. Back with the detective, a boss, and a best friend, poised to be a newlywed with his cheerleader beau, having children of his own.

Mary was in no hurry to have that kind of a talk, and yet she knew Mark was right. Nonetheless, she could at least say that part of her mission was accomplished. The man had consented to being her right hand when it came to Melissa, and that was the best she could hope for. Something about the way he'd talked to her had sparked something in her memory, however, and it was with that-that she responded.

"You know…once…a long time ago…" she held out one of her fries for Mark to sample, as he'd finished all his, but he refused, intent on listening. "Marshall told me to think about myself too."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you just told me that my setbacks with him are what I need to deal with, and back in the day, he tried to get me to see that when it came to my dad."

"_And what about what you want? At some point, that has to matter too."_

That phrase, so wholly altruistic and benevolent, coming from a Marshall that was years away from becoming her spouse, swirled in Mary's brain along with a rooftop breeze and a sunshine that had seemed too bright. She saw a Brandi handcuffed to a cold metal table, and today she saw a Brandi about to become a mother – an accountable one, at that. In the past, there was an Eleanor she could barely stomach, and today there was an Eleanor in her corner at the office that she could barely function without.

A long lost sister she couldn't bear the thought of having; a father she'd never gotten over. A dear and trusted partner whose words of wisdom had told her that, even then, she was too concerned with protecting everyone else, only to neglect her own needs time and time again. It seemed that, for as far as Mary and so many others had come, that was one piece of herself she had yet to discard. When trapped in a tornado of uncertainty and isolation, she sought to fix everyone else because then she didn't have to look at just how deeply she was suffering.

And, apparently, it was still prevalent enough that even Mark could see it.

"It's just…ironic, I suppose…" Mary ultimately pulled her head out of the clouds to finish her thought. "Sometimes I think I've really grown up – moved on, matured – and other times it's like I haven't changed at all."

It was doubtful that Mark was really following her disjointed thought processes, but he could jumble enough of it together to craft a respectable comeback.

"It's not a fault to focus on everything and everyone around you when you're in some catastrophe, Mare," this time, he rethought his decision to turn down the fries and took one, munching silently. "Some might even say it's a gift."

"Well, I wouldn't go that far…"

"But, things pile up that way," he'd been around Marshall far too long, because he had certainly developed a philosophical side, one Mary could only sporadically appreciate. "If you're going to get Missy settled, you need to get there first."

Underneath, the woman was still of the opinion that simply foisting additional bodies on her daughter to support her was the best solution, but Mark's was more practical and equally as sensible. What conversation she planned on having with Marshall, she had no idea, but winging it could sometimes be her specialty. At least she had an ex and a deputy with a gun who had her back. Not all women could say that.

"Mark…" a tired sigh leaked out and she reached out, stealing the second half of the fry he had already eaten. "Sometimes, I swear, I have never been settled. I've been aimless since I was seven years old."

And yet, her thudding heart began to slow down when Mark chuckled after she swiped his food, reaching across the table to grab it back, but she was too quick popping it into her mouth. That tiny slice of normalcy – playing around like the silly teenagers they had once been – tugged a smile onto Mary's face as well.

"Well…" he swallowed and shrugged, as though it would all come out in the wash. "I know you don't want Missy to go the same way. So, whether we're spread across the globe or joined at the hip, I'd say it's time to park it somewhere."

If only Mary could be sure that Marshall was parking it with her.

XXX

**A/N: Hope those of you with a long weekend are enjoying it!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I am glad that at least Adelled doesn't mind the long chapters, because here is another one! And, I had a brand new reviewer too, which I so appreciate!**

XXX

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

The sound of a swarm of flies as well as the vibrating of her mattress was what shook Mary from where she had dozed off against her propped pillows. Looking around, her mind halfway between the magazine in her hands and the dream in her head, she blinked into the dim light of her bedroom to see where the noise was coming from.

It became clear at once. Her cell phone was lighting up from where she had left it, resting atop the covers near her stretched out knees. Melissa already down for the night – or so Mary had hoped – the woman had intended to do a bit of tedious reading before going to sleep herself, just to ensure she was good and tired. Evidently, her eyes hadn't been able to stand the strain and she'd slipped off before nine thirty. Any earlier, she would be reaching senior citizen status.

Initially, she considered letting her voicemail pick up, but then she thought of just how many possibilities there were for who was on the other end of that phone. There was Brandi and the baby, her hospital-bound husband, not to mention unruly witnesses. She was in the business of emergencies, and to ignore a ringing cell after hours was definitely walking a tightrope.

And so, rubbing her eyes and sweeping her hair out of her face, Mary cast her magazine aside and palmed the phone, but an unfamiliar number was staring back at her. The area code was local, but no individual came to mind when she tried to match the digits with a name. Upon seeing this, she determined it had to be a witness – one she had inadvertently not plugged into her contacts – and hit the tiny green button that would connect her to the person on the other end. She hoped that whatever they wanted would be quick and painless; she didn't relish calling out to Stan at such an hour if there was a debacle with one of their charges.

"This is Mary."

"This is Marshall."

Well aware he was trying to be amusing by repeating her tried-and-true phrase when it came to picking up an unknown call, the woman still didn't know how to proceed once she realized who she was talking to. Instead, she sat stupidly with her mouth open; glad no one was around to see her look so dim-witted.

A whole host of sensations rippled from the top of her head clear down to her toes, like someone had cracked an egg on her skull and it was trickling over every extremity all the way down. Instinctively, she gnawed on her thumbnail, a nervous habit she had never been able to shake. So far, she was two for two when it came to leaving Marshall in the dust after they'd had some sort of disagreement, however big or small. Every time they spoke, they ended up leaving something in limbo, and if Mark was to believed, it was time to put up or shut up.

She just couldn't be sure of why he'd called, and she didn't want to bring up a sore subject if he wasn't in the mood.

"Are…are you there?" a voice floated through the opposite end when Mary spent too much time chewing on her options as well as her thumb.

Fortunately, she was speedy in jumping back in, "Yeah…yeah…" but, a yawn took flight before she could stop herself and even though she tried to cover her mouth to conceal the sound, Marshall picked up on it anyway.

"I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"No…" she assured him, even though it was a lie. "I put Melissa to bed a little while ago and I was just…relaxing," that was the most precise way she could put it. "I…I didn't realize it was you from the caller ID. Where are you calling from?"

"Just the phone in my room," he explained. "My cell died."

"Oh…" Mary breathed with a nod of comprehension. "Yeah. I…I guess I forgot to bring your charger…"

"No problem," he assuaged any culpability she felt easily. "It is almost nostalgic – if primitive - to use a landline again."

A soft chuckle, "Yeah, I didn't know they still had phones in hospital rooms. I guess that's good to know, though…"

"Well, it was convenient today, at any rate," Marshall proclaimed soundly. "I just, um…" the change in his inflection told Mary that they were about to get to the real reason he had dialed her digits. "…I didn't want to turn in for the night without seeing how you were doing. I missed you today."

Whether he meant it or was merely being gentlemanly, his wife still felt the pangs of ignominy when she was reminded that she had not, in fact, traveled to the hospital on what had become a very long Monday. It was spineless to the highest degree, and yet she had managed to busy herself with other things – work, witnesses, Mark, Melissa…

Besides, it wasn't easy to forget that her last two stopovers to see the man she loved hadn't exactly gone well. First, him dropping the bomb that he couldn't decide whether or not to share one roof with her, then his stumbling over his crutches and traumatizing Missy. Wrapping it all up with the impression that he still could not confirm any aspiration of being a husband, especially after tipping onto his backside at the hands of his step-daughter, hadn't left Mary with any precious mementos.

And still, she felt terrible. His days had to be so long, so boring, and so maddening. Why _would_ he want a relationship with her when she was too gutless to pluck up her bravery and see him regularly? In sickness and in health, those had been their vows, right? If she wanted him to live by them, she needed to do the same.

"I'd say I was busy…" she fabricated dismally. "But…that sounds lame even to me."

"A little white lie never hurt anyone," a joke. "And, I haven't really given you reason to want to return. I feel like I give you bad news every time you show up."

"But, the fact that I just keep leaving you chained in that room…"

"Now-now…" he scolded pompously; Mary could picture him wagging his finger. "Don't be _too_ melodramatic. My day was not as empty as you might think. Stan was in this morning and I had the good fortune of seeing Brandi again this afternoon. Between rest and mobility practice, my time is not as leisurely as it used to be…"

Sitting up at the mention of his walking, Mary was so overzealous that she nearly knocked her recycled magazine onto the floor. Before she lost it, she snatched it and placed it on her bedside table.

"How is that going?" the previously ravenous attitude she had demonstrated with Melissa and Mark at the restaurant was returning in full measure. "Are you getting the hang of the crutches?"

"It would seem that way, although I am still feeling rather unsteady."

"But, you're improving?"

"So I'm told," he recounted. "If Doctor Warren swearing allegiance that I may be able to be discharged on Wednesday is any indication."

Mary thought she might have a stroke. He had been so informal – probably on purpose so she wouldn't blow her top, even in a good way – but this was historic as far as she was concerned. Regardless of where he went once he was no longer confined to a hospital room, getting him on his feet and functioning again was mammoth progress. When she thought about where he'd been just a few days earlier, his strides had been those of an elephant's. The faster he recovered, the sooner he could return to work and his usual routine. Perhaps that, Mary hoped feebly, would generate some sort of memory in his otherwise addled mind.

"Wed…Wednesday?" her vocal chords quavered when she finally managed to speak. "But, I mean…that doesn't seem soon?" in spite of how much she wanted him to be freed, she didn't want anyone forcing him out on his own if his health was not at an appropriate level. "You _had_ the accident _last_ Wednesday. You won't even have been there a week…"

"Well, modern medicine and all," the man reflected. "I admit it does seem a little abrupt, but they are the professionals. If they say I can manage, I suppose I can."

Every compulsion that Mary possessed longed to scream at him that she would take care of him, she would pamper him and nurture him until he could stand it no longer and got fed up with her mollycoddling, in which case they would tease one another about what a sissy nursemaid she was being. She meant every part of it too; no matter how out of character, she would take him under her wing and give him whatever he wanted; him coming home would be worth her dignity.

But, even if the yearning was so strong it was causing her to claw at her bed sheets in desperation, she knew she couldn't say what she was thinking out loud. It would unquestionably scare him away. That was the last thing she wanted.

"Well…you must be excited to have a chance to be out on your own again," maybe this was an unfair assumption, but Mary knew it was how she would feel; plus, it avoided vocalizing any of her clinginess. "All that hovering gets old after awhile."

"I will welcome the space, yes," he amended. "But…my eventual independence is not really why I rang you up, not that I didn't enjoy broadcasting the news."

"Oh?" all-too-familiar alarm began to chase the giddy anticipation away in no time flat. "There was something else?"

"Nothing overly pertinent," he clarified, perhaps hearing the way Mary's voice inched up an octave when she became nervous. "I just thought since…you know, I will no longer be a resident of Mesa Regional in two days time if all goes as planned, that we could rehash that small matter of…" There was nothing small about it, but he skated over that in order to finish his thought, which was undoubtedly making him a little edgy as well, given how Mary had reacted in the past. "…Where I will call home when all is said and done."

So, in spite of the woman's efforts to be accommodating, to not press a sensitive issue, he had gone and compelled her to discuss it anyway. He knew as well as she did that they had accomplished absolutely nothing and, if he was indeed going to be back on his feet sooner rather than later, they were going to have to work something out. But, he'd been _trying_ to talk to her for days and she'd ended up running every time. She didn't especially want to go to bed with lingering resentment toward him.

"Yeah…" she attempted to sound gentle, unpretentious. "But, something tells me you want to 'rehash' like adults, and I can't promise anything where that's concerned," defaming herself might help as well, to show she was aware of her insecurities and couldn't always control them.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," even if he didn't remember he was her husband, he was still as complimentary of her as he had always been. "Can I tell you something I've learned in the last couple of days? Something about you I never thought I'd live to see?"

"What's that?"

"I may be having a tough time trying to wrap my head around this whole 'marriage' thing – it's something I can't entirely explain…" Mary wished, dearly wished, that he could because she longed to understand. "But, I think I was so caught off guard in the beginning because I doubted your sincerity for some reason. I'm not proud of it…"

"It's fine," Mary suspended wherever he was going with what promised to be an apology, knowing that a Marshall of eight years earlier wouldn't have been able to fathom kisses and tousles and unconditional love from a partner who had always been closed-off and detached. "From where you're sitting, I'm still the crabby old broad that stole your food and made fun of your girlfriend and took credit for all your hard work with witnesses…"

"It makes me sad to hear you say that."

And, indeed, that was exactly how he sounded – sad. Dejected, maybe even ashamed. This didn't saddle Mary with any kind of victory, because she certainly didn't want him beating himself up, but something about it was elevating. Could he be having a change of heart when it came to how he saw her? Did she dare to hope?

"I don't know why," still, she sought to place any blame squarely on her shoulders, not wanting to give in to her dreams too quickly. "It's who I was – it's who I still am in a lot of ways, you just haven't gotten the opportunity…"

"That's not true," there was a plea in his tired, strangled voice, so often riddled with coughs these days. "It was _part_ of you, not all of you, and I've been so wrapped up in the past that I've failed to notice just how much you've grown…"

"Marshall, you don't have to do this," although there wasn't another living soul around, she still felt her face burn when he tried to place her on a pedestal. "You don't have to prove anything to me. Whether or not you come home is your decision…"

"Mary…" in her mind's eye, she could see him running his fingers through his hair, the way he so often did when he was caught between a rock and a hard place. "I didn't think my needing a break from you and Melissa to get used to everything that's suddenly new to me would hurt you…"

"Well…"

He didn't let her finish, "And, that was foolish of me – incredibly foolish. Eight years ago or yesterday, you have feelings like everyone else. I shouldn't have taken for granted that you would save face, regardless of how much you were suffering underneath."

And now she knew what he meant. For the first time in his life, he had tried to take the easy way out. He had assumed, knowing Mary as he had before she'd become a mother and a wife, that even if she was offended by his need to back away, that she wouldn't show it. She would be stoic and stone-faced, and then he wouldn't have to feel so badly. It wasn't like Marshall, but the circumstances were unique and, in many ways, she really couldn't fault him. He had been thrown into a universe full of people and events that he could no longer identify. Who cared if he thought about himself above all others for once? He'd turned right back into his noble self the minute he'd realized how much Mary had changed, how much more open she was.

Laughing lightly and tucking her hair behind her ear, the woman in question tried to absolve any more of his remaining remorse, just in case he was still carrying some of it around.

"Yeah, I'm…I'm not as talented at covering up anymore…" she admitted, unsure if she should feel accomplished or lesser because of it. "Hell, if you'd been conscious when I saw you lying in the road…"

There was no need to finish that sentence, as Marshall should really be grateful he'd been blacked out during that instance. The whole ordeal still disturbed her, and she began to wonder how Melissa slept soundly at night when it had to be following her too.

"I wanted you to unlock the vault – so to speak – for years…" he took the reins when she didn't go any further. "I should be glad that you're not cutting yourself off anymore."

"You were," Mary granted him that. "It didn't happen all at once. You got to witness the 'transformation' like you said the other day. After Melissa was born, after we got married…"

She expected him to elaborate on his prior topic, to say more about why he should've been more readily accepting of the person she'd become since they'd gotten together, but he didn't. His next words were a surprise, but not an unwelcome one.

"I was wondering…" there was a shy quality to his tone now, like he was afraid to ask whatever was on his mind, and yet wasn't going to let that stop him. "If you don't mind and it's not too weird…" There was a silence while Mary did her best to be patient. And then, "…I'd like to hear about our wedding. Something tells me it's a good story, whether I can remember it or not."

It took a hearty amount of self control for the female inspector not to inhale and exhale too loudly so Marshall wouldn't know she was waffling when it came to enlightening him to something he had lived. She knew his mind was completely devoid of any experience occurring after she had told him she was pregnant, but it was still surreal to have him sound like he had been denied a treat. However, when she thought about how she would feel if she were in the same position, she would be curious for details as well.

But, like the tale of Melissa's birth, this wasn't a legend Mary could often get through without at least becoming a little emotional. Marshall might think he was suddenly more accepting of her vulnerable side, but she didn't savor spooking him with some impetuous conniption.

"Well, I mean…" a tiny sigh did make its way into the open, but hopefully the man would decide the release of air came from fatigue and nothing more. "There's not a whole lot to tell…" this wasn't true, but he might buy it. "It wasn't anything fancy; in some ways it was a formality. It would've been pretty makeshift if Jinx and Brandi hadn't gotten in on the action…"

"I meant more…" Marshall wedged his way through her gibberish, sensing that she was avoiding. "…You know, the unabridged version. I am a man who likes a little more than minutia."

It was the use of a thesaurus phrase that made Mary smirk, and she suddenly wished Marshall could see her. She wouldn't mind seeing his face when she helped him to relive what had been, no bones about it, one of the happiest days of his life. Perhaps _the_ happiest, considering that Missy's entrance into the world had been marred by uncertainty and a terrorizing afternoon.

And so, Mary shifted high onto her pillows, repositioning them, the light of her bedside lamp shining its soft yellow hue onto her face. The left side of her mattress was as empty as ever, but if she closed her eyes, if she took herself back to the fateful day she was about to recount, she could almost imagine Marshall sitting right next to her. Laughing, reminiscing, telling her at the end of it all that their hands intertwined beneath the arch was the moment his life had truly begun.

"Well…like I said, it was nothing lavish. You know me; I'm not the lavish type. It took some doing to yank Jinx and Brandi back by their collars, because they wanted to go all-out. I insisted it stay small. Or, as you might say, 'intimate.'"

Still, she kept her eyes shut. That way, she could picture him smiling, lying in his hospital bed and listening to the melodious sound of her voice, the aide to putting him into a peaceful sleep.

"At first, we thought about having it at the house – my house, our house. But, it really wasn't big enough, even though we probably only had twenty guests. So, we pitched tents and erected an aisle and alter in Brandi's and Peter's backyard."

"Does he still live in that – for want of a better word – mansion?"

Marshall's voice was a whisper, like he didn't want to disturb the tranquility that had begun to settle. Mary felt it too, with just a hint of disquiet – the kind she had felt when she knew she was about to become a wife.

"Yes, they're still there," she responded in kind. "They lived there back then too, and their backyard is practically a golf course – it seemed as good a place as any as far as I was concerned."

"When…when was this?"

Green eyes flickered down to Mary's hand, the one that was not supporting the phone, and she saw the single gold band that circled around her fourth finger. For years, Marshall had begged to get her something more feminine, something with a stone. And, for years, she had refused. And so, she had her simplistic gilded ring and he had his of shining, sterling silver. It seemed so long ago that they had argued about something like that, something so trivial.

"I mean…was Melissa still a baby, or…?"

"She was almost two," Mary tuned back in, forcing herself to look away from the glint glimmering on her hand. "It was the June before she turned in August, so she was twenty-two months. You would never know if you just looked at the pictures, though. She's so little; you'd think she was barely a year old."

"So, it's been then…?" doing the math didn't take long. "Six years. Six years." After repeating it, he breathed, "Wow. I…I don't know why I didn't ask about that sooner."

"It's okay," Mary waved this away; now that she was becoming immersed in the story, she wanted to keep going. "You know…I just realized this, but when you were in the accident they bagged all your belongings. You didn't have your ring on when you woke up."

This was just another explanation for why he had been so out-of-sorts about what was going on when Mary had been all over him, before she'd become aware of his memory problems. However, he had nothing to say to this, and she took this as an invitation to go on.

"Anyway…it was a pretty quick ceremony. Half the guests were in the bridal party. Brandi and Jinx both stood up for me, Mark walked Melissa down the aisle; she threw a couple petals, but then she tried to eat them and we had to cut that part short…"

The quietest of laughs sounded through the speaker, and in that exceptionally brief second, Mary had the sense that it was really Marshall to whom she was reciting this adventure. It was the first time since he had been hurt that he had seemed to find amusement in his step-daughter, had found her endearing – like she was family, someone he knew, someone he loved.

"I wore this incredibly elaborate dress…" Recognizing that she was exaggerating, she modified her account, "Well, for me it was incredibly elaborate, but I suppose to everyone else it looked plain. It was white, pretty tight across my chest and waist, but full all the way to the floor. The shoulders actually drove me crazy; the neck was shaped like a heart and so the straps just barely capped my arm like they were supposed to; I was convinced the whole thing was going to fall around my ankles…"

Instinctively, Mary reached for her upper arm, almost as though she expected to see that snowy fabric resting there, but it was only her navy T-shirt.

"It was covered in some sort of sparkly stuff…not really sequins, I don't know, but Jinx harped on me for weeks beforehand that I couldn't wear anything too bare, so I gave in…"

The memories began to speed, faster and faster, to the forefront. While it was strange to describe her wedding to anyone, because all those who mattered had been in attendance, it was also heartening in its own way. Mary had complained at the time, just as she was doing now, but in the aftermath she could feel the magic, as though it were still living deep inside her, waiting to be set free.

"…And, you were the only one that knew this at the time, but I went barefoot. The shoes that Brandi picked for me killed my feet, and my dress was long enough that nobody could tell I wasn't wearing them."

This time, there was no chuckle to accompany this anecdote, but Mary scarcely noticed. She was too wrapped up in not neglecting any portion that Marshall might want to hear.

"You wore a tux – tails and all – even though I told you that you looked ridiculous. You were ten times more formal than anyone else there and it was a hundred degrees outside. But, you were a stickler for tradition…"

He had been. It hadn't mattered how Mary had badgered and ridiculed him, he'd just smiled and held up his hands, not willing to budge on his convictions.

"But, you were like the black sheep compared to everyone else…" this time, she was the one who had to chortle. "Jinx and Brandi wore this Easter yellow color; all the flowers were the same shade, with some blue ones too, I think," funny, how she had forgotten that part; it had been insignificant to her. "And, Melissa was _supposed_ to be in lemon too, or whatever the hell the swatch was…"

Mary might've transported herself straight into that warm, sunny June day, the way she was rambling. She hadn't even noticed that Marshall had quit talking, that he was making no sound at all. He might've hung up for all she knew, and she never even blinked or stopped to take a breath.

"…But, Brandi fed her a cupcake before the ceremony even started and she spit the whole thing up all over her dress. I thought Jinx was going to have a heart attack…"

The bedlam that had occurred had sent all parties into a tizzy, except for Mary; it had calmed her because she was so used to dealing with the unexpected due to her job.

"So, I found this white party dress in her closet; I can't even remember what she wore it to or why she had it, but we changed her and put her in that instead…" With a self-satisfied smile, "Secretly, I was glad, because then she matched me – she looked like she belonged to me, you know." She wondered what he thought of that confession, but didn't pause to find out. "Anyway, once we were through the 'I do's' she covered it in grass stains at the reception, so it's probably better it wasn't the more expensive one."

No daughter of Mary's would've been caught dead in something so pristine anyway, she thought. She had raised a rough and tumble girl, and not even a wedding could slow her down.

"And, like I said, Mark walked her up the aisle before the bridesmaids, and she sat with him once they made it. She was almost two and she'd been walking for awhile, but she was still pretty wobbly; she fell down all the time, so I made him hold her hand…"

A small part of the woman was actually disappointed she hadn't been able to witness that moment. She'd been in the house, waiting at the back doors, waiting to make her own march through the grass; all she'd been able to see were the backs of heads, and she hadn't really been paying attention anyway. Nerves had really started to overtake her by that point.

"Up 'till the dress thing, it had been pretty smooth sailing, but…"

Here, she finally shut up, knowing she was only stalling because she hadn't been sure whether or not to share what she had considered one of the defining bits of the day. It was silly, really, to even ponder it. With any luck, Marshall would regain his memory in due time and she wouldn't be able to keep anything from him. He had been there; deep down inside, he knew what had happened. He just couldn't pull it out.

"But…we got Melissa dressed again and I sent her off with my mom…and it was getting pretty close to show time…"

She half-hoped Marshall would interrupt here, but he seemed incapable of speaking. Therefore, she had to solider on.

"I remember I was in Peter's guest room because it was on the first floor…"

With her lids closed once more, she could feel the warm sunshine streaming through and onto her face. You'd never know it was actually nighttime outside her window.

"And…I was alone with Mark; he asked if I would help him with his tie…"

Fingers twitched, pulling knots, seeing that pale, sky blue that had lay against the man's crisp white shirt.

"…And…out of nowhere…"

A swallow.

"I started to cry. I scared poor Mark half to death; I think he thought I was going to go all runaway bride on you…"

And yet, that hadn't been it at all.

"…But, it was that dumb tie that did it – I never could've predicted it. You know, I used to tie my dad's ties. I loved it; he never used to ask Jinx. He taught me, and then he let me do it whenever he was going out…"

Now, though, it wasn't the face of James that whirled in her subconscious, but Mark's boyishly bewildered one.

"And, I cried and cried – it was a miracle I didn't make a mess of that damn dress. It hit me really hard that my dad wasn't there to give me away and I never considered not going through with it, but all of a sudden it hurt like it never had in all the months leading up to the wedding…"

The pain was there, even now. Dulled, dimmer, not as prevalent. But, there nonetheless.

"Mark tried to make me feel better, but I think he realized he was in over his head. And so, he brought me you."

For, there could be no greater gift than that. They had not – were not – the superstitious types, a bride and groom that felt the need to sequester themselves from one another or bad luck would befall them. Mary had never thought twice about the old wives tale and now, six years in the making, she was glad she had-had nothing to fear from black cats and broken mirrors. Because, if she had not been able to see him in that moment, there was no telling how the wedding would've gone off. Nobody wanted to see the bride blubbering down the aisle – out of heartache, not joy.

"You took one look at me and…at first; I think you had the same idea as Mark. You thought I was getting cold feet."

Those men, Mary thought disdainfully. Hadn't they known by then that she always kept her commitments? A marriage was no different.

"But, then I started talking…I told you what had set me off and every third word I said how embarrassed I was. That I would miss a man who had given me nothing but grief was silly and still, just for one day, I couldn't help wondering if he had been a normal father how things would've been different…"

Even now, she couldn't entirely shake that feeling. When Brandi had married Peter, she'd barely bat an eye over James not being present for the festivities. Then again, she hadn't really known him. He hadn't had the opportunity to hurt her, at least not as personally as he had Mary.

"And…I expected you to fill me full of clichés and cheer me up and that would be it…"

That part had come later, she reflected. But, his initial reaction had not been from that mold at all.

"But…instead…"

Impulse made Mary clutch, in the here and now, for something that was not there. Her free hand found her opposite arm and squeezed, imagining his strong, sturdy fingers pulling her in close, sheltering her, making her feel far safer than her father ever had.

"…You just held me. You held me and…stroked my hair…"

A lump was forming fast in her throat. She had to make a joke, a sarcastic comment, in order to shrink it.

"…I mean, if Jinx had been there, she'd have skinned you alive for messing it up – my hair, I mean."

No laugh. Not from Marshall, not from her. The josh fell flat.

"And I got your jacket all wet, but you didn't say a word about it…"

Marshall wouldn't. Not someone as kind and gallant as he. Not the knight on the white horse that was going to lead her home.

"And…really, you…you said all the right things. That you understood, that you were sorry, that you would change it for me if you could…"

It had been sappy, yes. And still, Mary remembered how strongly she had believed in each syllable he had uttered. Coming from anyone else, she'd have been skeptical; she'd have discounted every formulaic line. But, he was too sincere not to buy into. And yet, it was really what had come next that she held so very-very close to her heart.

"But, then…"

His embrace had been so tender.

"…You asked me, 'What is normal, really?'"

His right eyebrow had been quirked, half-hidden beneath his hairline.

"…You said, 'What does 'being given away' really mean?'"

His hands had turned palms up.

"I didn't know what to say, so you told me. 'It's someone who has taken care of you sending you off to someone else who is going to do the exact same thing – a new man to hold down the fort. Well, I don't know about you, but the Mary Shannon I know has never needed a man _or_ a woman to keep watch over her. She does a pretty decent job of that all on her own.'"

And then, he had smiled. Miraculously, Mary had found it in her to do the same, watery and shaky through her tears.

"And, I still didn't have anything to match a speech like that. So you just kept talking, and you said, 'We decided two years ago that 'normal' is for the faint of heart. Who do you imagine is going to walk Little Missy down the aisle when her time comes? That'll have to be one _wide_ aisle…'"

The grins had turned to laughs, the woman expelling the last of her wetness.

"What you meant, obviously, is that you and Stan and Mark were all so close to Melissa that it would be impossible to decide which one of you would give her away. You were prepared for the unconventional down the road, so I'd better be too…"

And, standing there before him, giggling and wiping her eyes, the journey suddenly hadn't seemed so treacherous anymore.

"You said, 'There's abnormal, and there's unique. And, I think we've been the latter for awhile now. I wouldn't trade that in just for some magazine-style wedding. Would you?'"

There had been only one answer to that question.

"I told you no, that I wouldn't. Then, you kissed me…"

The taste of his flesh tickled against her lips. Mary found herself reaching for a hand beside her, just as she had done six years ago, but there was nothing there. The mystique that had ignited within suddenly began to fade.

"…And took my hand and whispered, like someone was eavesdropping, 'I never could've fallen in love with an _ordinary_ girl. I need that little _extra_. I need an _extraordinary_ woman – and her extraordinary Little Missy.'"

And, finally, there was silence. A twilit wind rustled the panes outside, jerking Mary very harshly back to the present. The sound of her beating heart filled the empty space; her fingers had gone rigid around the phone as she pressed it to her ear. There was nothing from the other end and Mary began to realize that she had neglected his contributions to the story because she really had felt like she was standing there with him, like she'd been able to go back in time and revive each miniscule detail – for his benefit as much as her own.

In the quiet that was swallowing them whole, she yearned to tell him that it was then, as he'd snuggled her close in the bedroom, the two of them and two alone, that she had felt married. Everything that had come after had felt like a show; she'd stood under a spotlight and allowed everyone to witness her tying the knot, but it was for them, not her. Her wedding had been inside, under the cover of privacy, a tiny slice to tuck safely into her soul. A piece just for her.

Those words about her father, and then his interpretation of their lives together – those had been his vows. She'd loved the ones he had spouted under the arch as well, but they couldn't compare to those he had spoken in his final moments as a bachelor. To understand, to even _want_ to understand, a woman like Mary was tricky business, but he hadn't needed the torch passed from someone like James to do it. He'd clinched it all on his own, and long before a day filled with gowns and tuxedos and little girls racing through the sweet summer grass.

But, Mary worried that if she repeated any of this, the tears from her vision would become all too real, and she didn't want to go to bed in a shambles. So, she ended the tale there, wrapping it up as though there was nothing more to say.

"Anyway, I…" her voice was tight, the phrases a sudden struggle. "…I was fine, of course. It probably was jitters, you know? You, uh…headed back up front and…Stan walked me down the aisle…" as it had been planned. "I…I couldn't have asked for anything better."

This was said on a final note, meant for Marshall to reply, but it was only then that Mary registered how mum he had been for the last several minutes. Had she just poured her heart out for nothing? Had the connection been lost and she'd been waxing poetic to herself all this time?

"…Marshall?"

It took him so long to come back that Mary was sure he _had_ gone, and her feelings of foolishness increased tenfold. But, as she finally shifted the cell against her ear and stretched her legs on the mattress, waiting for any sign of a sound, his voice returned. And yet, it was not a voice she expected to hear. It was low, clogged, like someone had dampened his chords or was squeezing his throat.

"…I'm…I'm here…"

Fear gripped at Mary's insides. She couldn't fathom why he would sound the way he did – like he was sick. She hastened to interrupt, to question him, but he got there first.

"…I…it…it sounds…beautiful…"

She was being so dim, but her concern was for him and she knew there was something wrong.

"Are you okay?"

It was plain he was not, but he lied.

"Yes…I'm okay. …I just…it seems like it was…wonderful. Thank…thank-you for telling me about it."

But, it was impossible to ignore how 'not okay' he was coming across. She could tell he was trembling, that he could barely hold it together. Had she upset him, or had something happened on his end, with his health?

"Marshall, what's the matter?"

If he didn't fess up, she wasn't going to be able to sleep through the night without knowing that he was all right. Fortunately, however, he gave up the ghost. But, his declaration didn't make Mary feel any better about leaving him for the evening.

"It…it was just something I dreamed about for so long…waiting for you at the end of the aisle…"

The lump returned but, this time, Mary found she couldn't swallow past it.

"…And…I'm sure I was thrilled…I'm sure it was something I thought I'd remember forever…"

Not now, not anymore.

"…But…I can't. I waited so long… But, that's all it is now. It's…just a dream."

Moisture she was unable to keep at bay dribbled down Mary's cheeks. It had all happened, every bit of it, but in his mind it was just the fantasy it had always been. How must it feel to hang on so long for something, only to have it happen and then have every memory wiped out as though someone else had lived through the entire ordeal? She'd wanted to help him by telling him how they had come to be, and now she had only made him feel worse.

"…I…I promise it wasn't. I…I can show you the pictures…"

This sounded so ludicrous, like she was trying to prove something, and yet Marshall was sweet even in his misery.

"I'd like that."

She didn't know if he was serious or not, but she didn't care. She didn't know how to fix this when she was so used to being able to fix everything. She'd survived having a daughter in the NICU, an instance with more loss of control than this and still, _this_ was what was ripping her apart from the inside out. She could fill him full of memories, but she couldn't make them stick. The Marshall who had whispered to her in that sunny bedroom, rays bouncing off her shimmering dress, was no longer here.

"I'm sorry…" was all she could think of to say.

Part of her expected him to wave her down, to say she had no reason to apologize. He didn't. And now she knew that he sounded so ethereal, so foggy because he was crying.

"I'm sorry too."

XXX

**A/N: I'm not sure I intended for this chapter to turn sad, but the writing can take you in unexpected directions!**


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I feel badly that I am bringing chapter after chapter of nothing but angst! I warned up front this would be bleak, but now it seems especially so! Hopefully, you all will stick with me.**

XXX

Mary's twilight discussion with Marshall, which had started off on such a promising note, left her feeling dismal and depressed come morning. The weather didn't help. It was a gloomy, grey Tuesday, and even though she couldn't hear the pitter-patter of rain, Mary suspected there might be a few droplets falling from the thick grey clouds. Sidewalks were strewn with ugly, unsightly brown leaves. Autumn's more regal shades of bright orange and deep crimson were beginning to fade, preparing for the long winter ahead in spite of the fact that Halloween was still several weeks away.

The sky outside was so dismal that Mary almost didn't wake up in time to take Melissa to school. Once she was out of bed and had secured her daughter's overall buckles, the pair of them sat across from one another at the island, both equally morose. The older mindlessly scanning the newspaper, the younger staring into her milky bowl of Frosted Flakes, they weren't exactly the most enthusiastic of individuals.

And yet, even though Mary had been hoping for a quiet morning, a chance to be alone with her thoughts before she ventured off to the hospital, that wasn't what she was going to receive. Every few bites of cereal, Missy would look up and study her, as though she were some new and rare specimen never before viewed up close. Each time the blonde caught her looking, she would glance away. While this behavior was odd, the inspector didn't possess enough will to ask what was going on. It seemed, however, that she was going to find out anyway.

Prim and proper, like they were about to discuss an important matter over drinks, Melissa laid down her spoon amidst her sugary milk, completely ignoring the fact that Mary wasn't even looking at her when she spoke. Dropped a bomb, more like.

"Mama?"

"What, sweets?" she was pondering the crossword, not that she had any plans to fill it in.

"Are you in love with Mark?"

So much for the crossword. Mary almost unseated herself in her shock. Crumpling the paper, creasing its previous folds, she threw it aside so fervently that she nearly clipped Missy's temple, but she was able to flinch out of the way in time. Once the threat of flying newsprint had passed, she looked meek, like she knew she had crossed some invisible line. Mary's look of total shell shock couldn't have been encouraging, but she couldn't help herself.

"_What?!_" whatever sleepiness she had still been enduring was long gone now. "Where on earth would you get an idea like that?"

"Nowhere…"

"Melissa," Mary broke in through her evasiveness very sharply, making sure she could tell that she was not going to be tricked by any sort of backpedaling now that they'd jumped into the deep end. "You don't ask a question like that for no reason."

But, the child was averting her gaze, as though frightened of what her mother might do if she was honest. It was plain she had not thought this through, had not considered what sort of rampage Mary would go on. The woman didn't want Missy to think she was mad at her, but this needed to be nipped in the bud – no beating around the bush.

"I'm waiting."

It was said in a rabid bark and, fearful or not, Missy could obviously see that vacillating any longer would only be worse for her. Therefore, she sighed a sweet, worn out little sigh and powered on.

"I saw him kiss you the other day."

Now Mary was more confused than ever.

"What are you talking about?" she racked her brains, but she didn't need to; she knew she and Mark had never locked lips – not the other day, not in Missy's lifetime. "We absolutely didn't…"

"_He_ did!" her timbre was shrill, but resolute, with emphasis on the man, not the woman. "On your cheek! Right here, after I'd been playing with him in the backyard! I didn't imagine it – I saw it!"

Like an old roll of film was unwinding itself through Mary's subconscious, she replayed her conversation with Mark from Sunday evening. Now that she stopped and thought about it, she realized Melissa was right – he _had_ kissed her. But, she didn't see why this was news to her daughter. Mark was an affectionate person; he'd been pecking Mary's cheek for years, and there was nothing more to it than that. Why would she take it to heart all of a sudden?

"And yesterday…!" she prattled on while her mother just sat stupidly with her mouth hanging open. "After school, when we were eating our French fries, you were laughing and playing around, and he touched your hand before we left."

Mary half expected her to add a, 'so there' but she didn't; she just faced the blonde, looking cross but just as determined. Arms folded over her middle, she stared the other woman down with a look of defiance, daring someone to say she was wrong.

There was no pretending that the inspector wasn't perplexed, but seeing how adamant her daughter was enabled her to take her foreboding down a peg or two. There was no reason to act like Melissa had committed some terrible faux pas. She was just confused. Why could be sorted out later.

"Missy…"

This was a bell going off if ever there was one. Mary never called her 'Missy.' Always, from day one, she had been 'Melissa.' It was more formal, less slipshod, less saccharine. She saw the merest sputter in her daughter's forest-shaded eyes that she recognized this transition, though she probably didn't know what to make of it.

"Mark is my friend. Friends have a good time – they touch each other…"

Abruptly, Mary had to wonder what Marshall would think if he'd heard that. The Mary he remembered had been very prickly about who could lay their hands on her.

"You've seen Mark act that way…countless times…" She was leaning in now, trying to glean even a smidgen of understanding out of her little girl's brutal stare. "Why is it bothering you?"

Her response was surprisingly fast, "Because you're not supposed to have fun."

Mary blinked uncomprehendingly, "I'm not?"

"No. Marshall is sick. He almost died because of me. How can you have fun and be happy after that?"

This revelation wasn't cheering, but at least it made sense. What Mary took away from it, even as she arched further back in her seat so as not to overcrowd the space, was that Melissa was most definitely _not_ happy. She was the furthest thing from, and it was probably far more than simple displeasure. It was anxiety, it was feeling enormous responsibility for the circumstances, it was even the remote possibility that her mother might be moving on, even when that wasn't the case at all. Your mind went to the worst case scenario when you were beginning to drown, and that was exactly what Mary saw right in front of her.

Putting on her most gentle, reassuring face, Mary tried to speak to her child like an equal. There might be over forty years between them, but kids were a lot smarter than adults often gave them credit for. She was afraid of what additional bafflement would surface if she kept her in the dark.

"Sweets, I am not having fun…" it was a serious, bold statement, but it was honest. "I'm not having fun at all. I _hate_ this. You must too, right?"

"Yes," she practically spit the word, still with her arms crossed over her chest.

"But, I'm not going to run right out and find a new husband just because Marshall's not quite who he used to be. I still love him, and I hope he still loves me…" Melissa looked as if she wanted to say something then, but Mary wouldn't let her. "I care about Mark very much, but I am not in love with him. I'm _lucky_ if he makes me laugh now and then; he's a funny guy…"

Her daughter's look of insolence began to ease just a little more. She, too, knew how entertaining Mark could be when he got in his groove.

"…But, just because I think he's being a big goofball now and then doesn't mean I'm over what's happened to Marshall. It's still _very_ upsetting…" she might not have needed to place so much inflection on 'very' but did it anyway. "You understand?"

Comprehension likely had nothing to do with it. Melissa had never once believed that Mary and Marshall were anything but hopelessly in love with one another. But, she would also probably be the first to admit that their rhythm had been entirely out of sync since the accident. She had every reason to believe that tempo might never return and that scared Mary as much as it likely frightened her daughter.

Here, on the edge of her stool, Frosted Flakes long forgotten, she was still probing her mother, trying to determine if she was being lied to. The miniature adult she could sometimes be was coming out of the woodwork and Mary suddenly began to feel like she was being x-rayed by those piercing, hardened eyes.

"Melissa…" going back to her given name might spark something in her, might urge her into being cruelly truthful about her insecurities concerning her home life. "The way you have dealt with this whole thing…I haven't said it enough, but I'm really proud of you…"

Briefly, she speculated whether this would translate to the child thinking she needed to keep her feelings inside. Mary opted to risk it, deciding the chance of Melissa reading into it that way was small.

"I know it hurts that Marshall doesn't remember you…" on a whim, she tried to place her palm on top of her tiny hand; Missy recoiled at first, but ultimately didn't shake her away. "It hurts me too, sweets…"

And, on a dime, she flipped. She yanked her fingers free, startling Mary further back into her seat; her look of quiet turmoil suddenly turned to one of untainted fury. A bellow that Mary had never once heard from her reserved, well-mannered little girl was unleashed, like a lion had been living deep in her chest all this time.

"It does _not_ hurt you! He remembers _you_!" Mary could see the whites of her eyes blazing, filling up with pools of tears she hadn't known she could shed this early in the morning. "He thinks I'm _nobody_! He knows you and Stan and Brandi and Jinx – even Mark! But, not me!"

"Hey, listen to me…" now the woman was out of her chair, detouring around the island, trying to console, to make pointless promises she couldn't keep because she didn't know what else to do. "Just because he…"

Mary's hand shot out another time, tried to pull her ranting little girl to her side, but Melissa shoved her harder than she would've thought was possible given her miniscule stature.

"I HATE him!"

This clearly had the reaction she was hoping for. A viciously satisfied glare passed through her all-too callous features that she had stunned Mary – a person who did not stun easily. She wanted action, she wanted results, she wanted to be let loose from the miserable monotony she'd been stuck in for the past week. Being mean and nasty was how she planned to get there.

"I hate him…!"

"You do not, what you hate is…"

"I hate _him_!"

She was jumping up and down on the linoleum, the closest to a tantrum she had ever come, flinging her hands into the open, trying to rid herself of a sensation that just wouldn't go.

"I hate him and I hate you too!"

Oddly, it was this attack on her own character that settled Mary. She didn't know a lot these days, but she knew her child. The repetition of the same seemingly hurtful phrase over and over was so beneath her Melissa. On any other occasion, no matter how steamed she was, she would've used her words, she would've talked – even shouted – her way through it. Not now. She was lost, phrases turned into weapons, meant to injure, meant to maim – designed to make someone else feel as awful as she did.

A sadness seeped into Mary at the thought that this method wasn't going to work, because she felt nothing at hearing she was despised by her own flesh and blood. She knew the threats were empty; they wouldn't help Melissa in the long run.

And, seeing that Mary had barely blinked upon being insulted, she breathed hard into the open air, her glasses slipping down her nose from sweat perspiring around her eyes. Mary tried to motivate herself to stay calm, to not rise no matter how Missy continued to goad her. In spite of her daughter's usual maturity, _she_ was the adult. She should appear to be in control, even if she was a wreck inside.

"Does hurting my feelings make you feel better?"

Such a simple question, said so softly, might be what set her off again. For a moment, she suspected Melissa might erupt another time, purely because it was an inquiry that Marshall might pose. So rational, so composed.

"No…!" but, some of her convictions faltered in the otherwise silent house. "I really _hate_ you!"

"Why?"

An open mouth was what faced Mary, but nothing came out of it. Missy had been ready to pounce all over again, only to have no definitive answer. She'd slowed her down, at the very least. This was all becoming eerily familiar, in some ways. The inspector couldn't tally the number of times she had claimed to loathe Jinx – for reasons that were as feeble as the ones Melissa might soon give her.

And so, they just stood, one a smaller carbon copy of the other – one furious, one despondent, both experiencing what their counterpart was, just unwilling to admit it. In the quiet, Mary began to wonder if this was the alteration in personality that Shelley had warned against, but she wasn't so sure. She still thought there might be more, that a brief bout of blowing off steam couldn't be the worst of it. Who knew what was to come?

That didn't matter at the moment. In being coerced to give a basis for her malice, Melissa lost her thread. She was too kind, her heart too wholesome, to hold up such accusations for long. Mary watched in agony as her lip began to quaver, which meant the wrath would soon evaporate to make room for something far worse.

"You don't know why, huh?" Mary jolted almost politely, as though it were a natural question, said with no arrogance.

When Missy warbled out a reply, she was reminiscent of a frog – croaky, choking, guttural.

"No…"

Two letters was enough. It didn't come slowly, it came in a fleet. She burst into tears, slapping her hands over her face, smashing her glasses into her nose. Mary stepped over and smoothed her hair, cautious about initiating a full-blown hug if she was still caught in the throes of animosity.

"You're mixed up, Melissa. It's okay…"

Apparently, she didn't think so, "It is _not_! I was _mean_! Marshall will never love me again if I'm so mean!"

"Yes, he will, sweets…" there was no point trying to convince her he adored her still, because it was clear she wouldn't believe it. Patting her shoulder roughly she went on, "He would get it too; he really would. You're upset; people say things when they're upset…"

Her voice was muffled behind her hands, but her point couldn't be missed.

"I don't hate you, mama…"

So many second graders would never apologize two seconds after being such a bully – most wouldn't act contrite, period. Minutes ago, this girl had been screaming herself hoarse, desperate to seem bigger and badder than she really was. And now, she was in a shambles, ashamed for acting so poorly. That wasn't Mary running in her veins. That was Marshall.

"I'm sorry…"

"You don't need to be sorry," Mary assured her, and she stooped to the floor so that she would be eye to eye with her child when she finally came up for air. "I know you didn't mean it."

"I just want Marshall to come home…I want him to be like he was…I miss him so much…"

"I miss him too, sweets."

"But, at least you have Mark!"

"You have Mark too, girly…he's crazy about you; you know that…"

"But, Mark is your _friend_!"

At first, Mary didn't know what she meant, why she was reiterating what had already been said. But, once her brain got with the program, she understood why someone else having an acquaintance in this turbulent time was tearing her up underneath. Melissa didn't have a friend. There was no person whom she could rely on, to pour her heart out to, to commiserate and cry with. She might have a wonderful family, but few things could replace someone who chose to be by your side not because you were already linked, but because they wanted to be. Mary knew the rarity of a good friend. For years, Marshall had been her one and only. Her best.

"Hey…" she whispered, speaking over the stifled sounds still issuing from beneath Melissa's hands. "Look at me…"

Maybe to make up for having screeched at her, Missy listened without hesitation. Her spectacles were askew when she pulled her hands away, her skin blotchy and red. The ponytail Mary had tied in her hair was already coming out, the rubber band sagging halfway down her head.

Silently, she synched her locks back together and replaced her glasses to their proper place. Melissa simply stood and sniffled, ignoring all of her mother's movements.

"You know, when I was your age, I didn't have any friends either."

A sweetly bemused look flitted through the child's waterlogged eyes. This couldn't have been a total surprise to her, but it was also something she'd never heard before.

"You didn't?"

"Nope," Mary shook her head. "For some of the same reasons you don't."

A frown, "What do you mean?"

The blonde extended her arm from her kneeling position and placed it smoothly on Missy's shoulder. The shift in weight made her stagger slightly, but she didn't fall.

"I was different," this was an education she wouldn't receive in school, but she needed to be well-informed nonetheless. "Different scares people. I don't know why – maybe it's because they don't want to see themselves there, at the bottom of the pile, so they have to highlight just how superior they are. Or, people could just be jerks, I don't know…"

Melissa ran a finger under her dripping nose, fully intent on hearing the rest of the story. That same finger roved upward and wiped underneath her lenses, brushing the slickness away.

"I didn't have the…balance thing like you do…" this was a given, but Mary decided she would draw attention to it anyway. "And, I sure wasn't as smart as you are…" in many ways that meant Missy had a far harder time of it, because she had more attributes that distanced her from the pack. "But, all the kids knew how I lived at home. They knew all about my dad, and they knew he had run out on us…"

"But, shouldn't they have been sad for you? Why would they make fun of you because of that?"

"I don't know, sweets," Mary shrugged. "Just like I don't know why they judge you because _you_ don't have a dad – at least not in the usual sense."

"I still sometimes wish I did," she said softly, gazing down at her toes and rocking back and forth agitatedly. "Just so they'd leave me alone. Just so there'd be one thing about me that's like everyone else."

This took Mary back to her mission with Mark, her goal to integrate him more fully into his biological daughter's life. It seemed that, even in spite of her misunderstanding about her mother's relationship with the man, the notion might still hold some water. Others likely would not agree, they would beseech Mary not to give into the demands of an eight year old who didn't know what she wanted. But, that wasn't why she was doing it. She wasn't doing it so Mark could possess a label, either. It was as she had conceived it in the beginning. She wanted someone there to alleviate the pain if Marshall slowly disappeared from their once-pristine existence.

"I suppose that's my fault, isn't it?" Mary mused with a sardonic chuckle. "I've been forcing all these men on you since you were in diapers…"

"But, if I had friends, that wouldn't matter…" the girl enlightened her to the real root of the problem, even if Mary wouldn't take it to heart and proceed with her original plan. "Don't friends love you for who you are?"

"They're supposed to."

"Then, I could have Marshall and Mark and Stan and no _real_ friend would care that I have them and not a dad. Right?"

"I guess so."

"Nobody at school even knows what happened to Marshall, and they wouldn't care either. They _should_ be sad for me, like all the kids in your school should've been sad for you when your dad left to rob banks, but they wouldn't be…"

"Do you know that for sure, sweets?" Mary didn't want to doubt her, but she was curious about how much she had gleaned from her classmates' immature behavior over the past few months. "You don't think they might be sympathetic?"

"No," she murmured. "They wouldn't."

And, if Regina Hodges was any indication, Melissa was probably right. Any school with that beast at the helm couldn't be overly concerned with the woes of its inhabitants. Just thinking about it made Mary's blood boil, but her daughter was looking close to tears again, and she didn't want to set her off another time.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay home from school today?" she had lobbied for this every weekday since the accident, but her proposal had never sunk in. "I could hang out here with you this morning and then I could call Brandi to come over this afternoon while I visited Marshall…"

Surprisingly, her daughter didn't implore Mary to let her tag along to the hospital, as she had done on every occasion before this one. She must not be up for forced small talk with her step-father – small talk devoid of riddles and brain power and teasing and all the amazing things Marshall usually had up his sleeve. Nonetheless, her retort to the woman's needling was the same as always.

"I need to go to school."

'Need' was awfully strong, but there could be any number of reasons why Melissa was holding onto this supposed desire so fiercely. Marshall, beaten and battered or otherwise, believed staunchly in the importance of academics. It might be in tribute to him that she plugged on, whether she wanted to or not.

"And you still don't want me to tell Miss Newman about everything going on around here?" Mark had made it sound like Mary was going to broach that conversation with the teacher regardless of Missy's opinion, but the mother wasn't going to traipse into such a minefield if it was only going to trouble the child further. "Because, I can; I wouldn't have to go into too much detail or belabor it or anything…"

Missy cut her off, her brow creasing, "Belabor?"

A new word. Apparently, her mind was hard-wired to spot them.

"What's that mean? I thought that's what's going to happen to Brandi when she's about to have the baby."

Mary really tried not to laugh, but the smallest of chuckles snuck out anyway. She remembered the eight year old's previous displeasure with showing any signs of joy given their situation and clamped down fast. Fortunately, Melissa didn't look incensed this time, just puzzled.

"That's _labor_, sweets. She'll go into labor – probably, anyway. That's what happens in the day or so before the baby is born; he'll start to move down the birth canal and eventually she'll push him out."

Not at all shy about explaining this, because she knew Marshall had already given her an abbreviated rundown of childbirth, Mary began to wonder how they'd gotten so far off track. But evidently, fresh information was even better than a fresh word, and Melissa became absorbed in a hurry.

"But, you didn't do that," she recalled, still scowling slightly. "The doctors cut me out of your belly – you didn't have to push me anywhere."

"You're right; you were different. Sometimes, if there's a problem with the baby or the mom – even if it's just a small one – they'll go ahead and cut the baby out just to be safe. Labor can last a long time and if it doesn't go right the baby could be in danger."

"That's not going to happen to Brandi, though?"

"I don't know," Mary conceded. "You never can tell with babies. Getting them out is pretty painful either way, but it's worth it. I know it was for me…" here, she cast her little one a loving smile. "I'm sure Brandi will feel the same way."

Melissa nodded, though she didn't smile back, and seemed to remember that this had not been part of the original conversation, rewinding to return to her earlier question.

"Then, what's _be_labor mean?"

"Just that…I don't have to make a big deal out of anything, I don't have to tell Miss Newman that this is some huge catastrophe…" even though it was. "I can just explain…what happened to Marshall and it distracts you sometimes because it makes you sad. It would make anybody sad, girly."

She tried to index just how many times she had used the word 'sad' in such a short space of time. You would think, what with Melissa's ever-budding vocabulary, that they could come up with some more distinctive phrases, but instead they harped on the same one again and again. In some ways, Mary still thought it was more fitting than 'depressed' or 'miserable.' 'Sad' made no bones about it. It was what it was.

But, however it was going to be described; it seemed Melissa wasn't sold on relaying her troubles to anyone who would listen. She might be more matched to Miss Newman than she was to any of her peers, but apparently she still had her pride. Mary would never pour out her sorrows if it wasn't necessary and it seemed Missy wasn't going to either.

Head wagging side-to-side, she concluded, "I don't want her to know. I want to be in that gifted class, and if she thinks I'm all messed up she might not let me go."

A light bulb might've popped up over Mary's head. While she didn't think what her daughter had just blurted out was the sole reason she wanted Marshall's misfortunate to stay in the vault, it definitely helped to string a few uncertain pieces together. It wasn't _all_ about keeping your emotions to yourself.

And, while Mary was itching to say that a family tragedy wasn't going to prevent Melissa from being in any sort of class, they were running out of time if she wanted to make it to the class she was already in. Bringing up the fact that the inspector still had not made a move on the genius-front wasn't going to help matters either; best to brush it under the rug until she could have half a second to think about it some more.

"Then I'll stay quiet, but let me know if you change your mind, okay?" that was all she asked and she received a nod in return. "Run get your jacket and your backpack; we're gonna be late if we don't get going."

And, while she was glad to see her child dart off, tears dried and meltdown over as quickly as it had started, Mary still couldn't help thinking that sending her away into the big, bad world yet another time was a time too many. Surely she would snap soon if she continued running on empty. Surely she needed a break.

Didn't they all?

XXX

**A/N: So many problems, so little time! Thank-you to those who are reading and reviewing! You guys are the best!**


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: An extra thanks to KeiraCassidy and JJ2008 for all the catch-up reviews! And, I didn't call out LadyPetunia for her new ones, so thanks to her too! Hopefully this chapter will not be so somber…**

XXX

Melissa was nothing if not consistent, and once Mary had dropped her off in front of the elementary, watching her dodge raindrops the whole time, she drove through the quickly-darkening sky to the hospital. It was ominous, somehow, and the entire way she began to wish she'd just turned around and gone back home. Even though she had thrown several pictures from the wedding into her tote because Marshall had expressed interest in seeing them, she couldn't exactly say she was looking forward to perusing the snapshots. They reminded her too intensely of better, brighter days, and if the clouds above were any indication, those days were further behind than ever before.

But, no matter how she might want to crawl back under the covers and wallow, she did not allow herself to become so withdrawn. Like so many other days in the last week, she parked her car between the yellow lines, she stepped through the sliding glass doors; she disregarded the harassed looking individuals in the waiting room and the busy receptionists. Up in the elevator, down the hall, still avoiding the eyes of others who were ill-fated enough to have a loved one as a patient, she located Marshall's room as she always did.

Only, he wasn't there.

Initially, Mary almost flew into a frenzy, stopping dead in her tracks once she went through the door. But, when she made herself think things through like she was even halfway sane, she knew that if anything suspect had occurred that someone – surely – would have called her. The room bore all the signs that Marshall had just been there; the covers on the bed were rumpled and pulled back and the lights were on. However, the IV pole was missing, which Mary found odd. She was just about to hit the call button and ask what the hell was going on when she heard the sound of a toilet flushing.

Whirling around, she spotted the closed bathroom door behind her and felt an immediate sense of relief. Of course. He was in the bathroom. That was logical. Now that she had discovered the solution, she felt stupid. She wasn't used to being so tense all the time; her defenses were low, her anxiety extra-heightened. Some Marshal she would make once she was back on the job.

But, she was about to find out just how well she would react in a potentially disastrous situation because almost immediately after the toilet flushed, there was a clatter from inside the confines of the restroom. Why would someone have sent Marshall, hardly able to walk, into a room all by himself? She'd always known doctors were nothing but overpaid quacks.

Stealing over to the hatch, she got down to business at once, determined to be of assistance.

"Marshall?!" she called, hoping she sounded equipped, not nervous.

There was a pause before her own name was shouted back at her, dampened behind the door.

"Mary?"

"Yeah, I just got here," she announced, trying not to stand too close in case he turned the knob and bumped into her. "Do you need help?"

"No, I'm okay…" he insisted. "Just give me a minute…"

And, a minute was all it took. Scuttling backward on the linoleum, Mary was waiting at the foot of the bed in time to see Marshall emerge – awkward, but upright, without anyone anchoring him to the floor. What had originally made her skittish, because she didn't like to think of him roaming around with such a high possibility of falling, was now close to exciting. He was so much steadier than he'd been two days before, although definitely labored.

He leaned on one of his crutches as he eased the door open all the way, the adjoining support stick propped against the wall. Once that was done, he worked his free arm into the second crutch, situated himself in the slats, and then swung his way forward. The cadence might be slow, but he'd found his beat, and Mary didn't care how legato it was.

"Not much of an entrance I'm making…" he wheezed, but he managed a smile as he glanced up. "Good thing we don't have plans to go dancing; I wouldn't be able to do my gentlemanly duty and lead…"

Mary cut across him, "You look fantastic!" some of her gloom and doom was dissolving at seeing him make so much progress; it didn't even matter how corny she sounded. "I mean…you're walking. With a broken tibia, you're walking…"

"Well, sort of…" he marginalized it, hobbling his way to the bed; upon closer inspection, Mary saw that his old, plaster cast had been replaced with the promised black one; softer, lighter, and sleeker than the original. "It's a bit like a three-legged race, actually…"

"So what?" Mary was probably alarming him with her gusto; she didn't entirely understand it herself, but she decided to run with it. "I mean, a week ago you weren't even…" the delight was about to be spoiled with bad memories, and so she changed tack at the speed of light. "…I just…it's crazy, how far you've come…"

"Still a lot of hard work ahead, as I understand it…" with a groan, he dropped onto the mattress, allowing his crutches to fall to the floor once he was through with them. As Mary picked them up and set them side-by-side lengthwise next to the bed, he continued, "But, no rush, right?"

"Yeah…" she agreed once she had pulled her head up to respond. "Yeah…right."

"Anyway…" he was still sucking on wind, his face shining with perspiration, but there was a glow about him as well; even though almost a full beard had come in from nearly a week of not shaving, his eyes sparkled at his accomplishments. "How are you? You're here awfully early; I thought you might head to the office first…"

"No, I've…been there the last few days…" she didn't want to tell him that had been so she could have an excuse not to see him. "Stan and Eleanor pretty much have things covered."

"I didn't know you trusted your files to someone like Eleanor."

"Well…" Mary smirked, knowing he no longer knew just how well she and the office manager got along these days, even if they still traded barbs with the best of them. "Stan has whipped her into shape, I suppose. You know, I'm pretty sure they have a thing going on the side…"

"You mean like we thought they did just a few…?" Suddenly, he stopped and cleared his throat, realized his blunder with the time frame, but managed to keep on grinning, shrugging off his error. "…I guess that would be _many_ years ago. Same deal? Or more hot and heavy?"

Mary laughed this time, leaning with her hand on her hip to look at him joking about something so commonplace. She knew he had been referring to the period when Eleanor had first come to Albuquerque a few years before Missy had been born. She and Stan had tried their hand at a tentative relationship then, even though neither had been willing to come clean about it. It had fizzled, however, likely due to Stan's chivalry about not dating a woman so soon after she'd been widowed.

"They don't do a very good job hiding anything these days," Mary informed him, glad to be of service in aiding the recollections he had lost. "Melissa has their number. She doesn't hesitate to play cupid whenever she gets a chance."

"Now, that's a spunky girl."

"She can be. When she wants to."

"I don't think I want to miss a minute of witnessing that vim and vigor once I'm sprung tomorrow afternoon."

He was as cavalier as ever, periwinkle eyes twinkling, but Mary had the distinct impression that she had missed a step somewhere. She'd already known he was likely to be out of the hospital by the impending Wednesday, and the vision of him up and around all on his own only reinforced that he was ready. That wasn't where her disorientation came from. If he wanted to 'witness' Melissa in any capacity, he would need to see more of her.

How would he do that if he ended up bunking with Stan? Mary had assumed he would go there upon his initial release because their boss, unlike Mark, lived in a one story ranch and the other man had a walk-up apartment.

But, was it possible he wasn't going to be camping out at either of those places? The woman's heart began to tick like a stopwatch with a second hand moving faster than normal. She was a bomb about to go off. Or a firework.

First, she needed to be sure, "I…I don't think I…" she got jumbled and tripped over her words trying to be understanding, trying not to look as eager as she felt. "…What?"

Marshall sighed, seemingly poring over her inner turmoil, the conflict she was feeling at not wanting to hope too hard or leap too soon. Pitching one hand on the mattress, he cocked his head at her, a sign that he was rethinking his approach. Maybe the casual route wasn't the best one; maybe he just needed to shoot straight down the pike.

"Mary, after the talk we had last night…"

She interjected before he could get started, not on purpose, but because she was so keen to avoid a conversation even remotely connected to the one they had-had the evening prior. It had been so glorious to relive the wedding with him, only to have him melt into a heap by the end of it, downcast because his lifelong fantasy had, in his mind, amounted to nothing.

"Do we…really have to talk about last night?" the woman lamented, wounded just thinking about it. "I don't know about you, but it kind of did me in…"

"I experienced much the same, yes," Marshall acknowledged. "But, it was also a wake up call for me too, and if you'll permit me to go on…"

"Yeah…I'm sorry; I should've let you finish…"

But, it was the second disruption that actually called him to a halt, and his head tilted to one side more than ever. He was beginning to look like a flummoxed little puppy that didn't understand why his treats had been taken away. If he had wanted to complete his thought, Mary didn't understand why he didn't just get on with it, but she'd evidently distracted him.

"You sure do apologize more than I remember."

Mary didn't especially enjoy hearing this. It made her feel like a sissy. But, knowing Marshall, he meant it as some sort of tribute. She did her best to take it as one.

"Well, I mess up a hell of a lot," she figured. "And, when you have a kid, you want them to know that it's important to take responsibility when you…"

It was his turn to break in, "It's not a bad thing," now his grin looked a little wily, like he was egging her on. "It's just not always necessary. You don't have to try and prove your worth in order to 'win me back…'"

Prepared to pounce all over that, because it was the furthest thing from the truth, Mary opened her mouth and took a step forward so she was looming above him. Ready to show that she was the same rugged inspector he had always known, not some pansy, she was completely thrown for a loop when he got through his phrase before she could craft a counterattack.

"In fact, it's _me_ who I hope will be able to win _you_ back. Are you sure you don't mind giving up your bed for a cripple like me?"

Lack of political correctness aside, Mary was halfway through sculpting her argument on not going to additional lengths to mold him back into her husband when she cataloged what he had said. That devious smirk was still pasted on his face, almost lost in his mountain man of a beard. If she could close her eyes and whisk away all the counters, the bed, and the machines, she could imagine this were another day at the office – one of his goofy games designed purely so he could watch her roll her eyes and scoff.

But, when Mary forced herself to stay in the present, she realized that this might even be better than their typical witty banter, something she had longed for ever since amnesia had taken over their lives. She would question him again and again, would make sure without doubt that he was serious, and yet she had never known him not to stand by his word in all the time she had known him.

If she was reading him correctly, her mind not clouded by misgivings or potential potholes down the road, she knew what he was saying. He was coming home. He was going to let her take him home.

"I…I don't want you to feel like you have to…"

Even as she spoke, Mary chastised herself to shut up. She prayed he wouldn't listen, no matter how decent she tried to be.

"…This…this is your choice…things are different…don't take all this on just because I…"

"Mary…" his smile finally vanished, to be replaced by a look of utmost sincerity. "I can't make any promises – I'm _not_ making any promises. I don't know how I'll feel once everything is in motion. What I do know is that when I listened to you last night…"

Now she was about to find out the real reason she had brought up that discussion, something she had stomped on when he'd tried a few minutes earlier. This time, she vowed to keep quiet, especially if the reward was as great as she was forecasting it to be.

"…When I heard you tell that story, I got a glimpse of our lives together. It may have _killed_ me that I couldn't remember a single facet of that day, not to mention the few short years before and every second after…"

Mary's lip began to tremble in her effort to stay mum. She hated to think of a time that had once been so near and dear to both of them just fading into posed snapshots and a dress only to be worn once. But, for as emotional as she was, her chest fit to burst from trying to contain her hammering heart, she was reassured that Marshall, this time, was not coming undone. Whatever reeling he had engaged in the night before seemed to have left him, at least for the moment.

"But, one of the things I _can_ remember is having a partner I admired and adored more than anything – even if I was always too much of a coward to tell her…"

This wasn't doing wonders for the tears threatening to gush forth; Mary bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

"…And, if you say we've spent eight happy years together, I don't want to miss another second. Unfortunately, I've lost quite a bit, but there's no sense losing anymore…"

Say it. Say it. Just say the words. If he would say it so explicitly, she wouldn't have to guess, wouldn't have to flounder any longer.

"…If you still want me there, I'm going to try and come home and pick up where we left off. If you and Melissa can accommodate my gimpy self."

If his attempt at being funny was to get Mary not to fall apart, it didn't work. It was like something akin to a woolly mammoth had been living on her chest for six days, and only now was she realizing how freeing it was to have that weight so graciously lifted and plucked away. She tried not to unravel, but the release of such enormous pressure and the kindness he was granting her by at least giving her a chance was too much for her already fragile mindset.

In seconds, she was crying, not unlike Melissa had been that morning, although no anger accompanied her tears. She might not have breathed properly in weeks, and this was the first she'd gulped fresh air – a new start, a new life. Clapping her hands over her mouth really only enhanced the sound of her sobs and Marshall looked bewildered, for there were no words issuing from her mouth to tell him what this outburst was really all about.

"Oh my God…" then the phrases, muddled and murky as they were. "Oh God…" the second round was as much for her benefit as his, because she couldn't believe what a train wreck she was becoming. "Jesus…"

Determined to get it together, she mopped up her eyes with her palms and gave a very shaky laugh, half-amused, half-mortified by her exhibition, and yet she still couldn't stem the flow.

"I…I really didn't mean to…" the man needed to get his two cents in, to express some of his disorientation. "…I wish you wouldn't cry; I thought you'd be happy…"

And this took the cake.

"I _am_ happy, you idiot!"

Driven completely by lust and long suffering yearning, she pitched forward and kissed him – square on the lips, both hands cradling his newly-fuzzy face. She didn't care if she was bowling him over or freaking him out or possibly sending him to pack his bags for a hotel. It felt so good to be so near to him, breathing him in, soaking up his generosity, his willingness to try for her and for Missy. She tasted her own salty tears as they leaked from her eyes and around her nose and even though it was she who was embracing him, after mere moments she felt the lightest nudge from his lips, meaning he was kissing her back.

Not wanting to overwhelm him too heartily once she had her wits about her, she slipped free and settled for hanging her arms around his neck, stooped like a hunchback as she hugged him so awkwardly, but so lovingly all at the same time. Tears ran down the back of the jacket he wore over his hospital gown, but the hug was almost better than the kiss because he was less shy. A squeeze told her he was okay with the show of fondness and his hands gripping her made her laugh again.

"That was quite lovely," he mused from over her shoulder, sounding humored by her theatrics. "I could hardly doubt your opinion after that pleasant display of affection."

A snicker that was far more natural than usual took flight, "Gives new meaning to the term, 'PDA.'"

"Hey, I'd take 'pleasant' over 'public' so long as it doesn't offend you."

"Don't worry about it."

Mary never wanted to let go of him. She knew he thought her abundance of passion and zeal was funny, that she was perhaps even being over-the-top, but it was so inconsequential to her how she came off. She didn't think she would've even cared if the room had been full of people, if she'd turned into a blubbering mess with witnesses to behold the sight. All she cared about was that his perfectly beating heart would be under her roof in just another day. Like when she had learned he was going to survive after the accident, she was back to feeling like everything else was manageable. The biggest hurdle had already been jumped over.

And, the party wasn't over yet. Because she was still clutching him, inclined to reach his seated form, he obviously felt he needed to do something to reciprocate.

"I've never seen you like this…" He had, he just didn't know it. "It's nice. Sweet, even."

And then, making Mary swoon on the spot, he moved his head a fraction of an inch and pressed his lips to her cheek. Bizarrely, she was reminded of Melissa's accusations that Mark had been doing the same thing and was relieved – overjoyed, more like – that her husband's kiss was _nothing_ like Mark's. The smooch belonging to her ex had always been playful, a gesture of companionship, like a handshake at the door or a pat on the back. Marshall's made her want to plant one on him, and that wasn't all. She was able to refrain, but the aftereffects tingling on her skin were intoxicating. She was sure he hadn't kissed her since he'd been injured and it was good to know it was as breathtaking as it had always been.

Thinking about Mark took her back to thoughts of her daughter and, rather than try to engage Marshall in anything more illicit, Mary managed to slip herself free, beaming from ear to ear like she'd had about ten drinks.

"Oh, Christ…" she shook her head and chuckled tipsily, taking another swipe at the moisture lingering around her eyelids. "I can't wait to tell Melissa. She could use some good news."

"Well, something tells me you needed a little of that yourself," he replied. "Misfortune on the part of one never truly affects a single person. It's like ripples in a pond – because I am affected, so are you, so is Melissa, and on and on the rings spread…" With a shrug, "I feel like I kind of forgot that – how hard this must've been for you."

Mary didn't really believe he'd neglected any such thing, but it was heartening to hear her pain acknowledged, at any rate. It was all water under the bridge now as far as she was concerned. A clean slate had never boasted so much potential. Their future – all bright and shiny and new.

"You know you start to sound more like yourself when you become prophetic that way," she informed him, holding off just short of winking. "Metaphors and analogies – all your favorite things."

"Ah…" another modest hunch of his shoulders. "It's basic statistics."

"If you say so."

She wanted to say more – so much more – now that it felt like they had all the time in the world, but she felt a distinct vibrating in her back pocket that meant her cell phone was going off. At first, she thought it might be Marshall's even though she could feel the buzz against her rear end. Then, she remembered his own phone was dead and, in her rush to bring the wedding pictures, she had forgotten to grab his charger. Leaving that minor detail for later, she maneuvered her own device out, hoping Marshall would understand her abandoning their reunion momentarily.

"Hang on, sorry…"

"No problem…"

She hoped it wasn't anything work-related, not when she was in such a good mood; she didn't need her spirits dampened with any of her more unpredictable charges, especially when she had no partner to accompany her these days. Stan and Eleanor were already picking up so much of the slack at the Sunshine Building, and she didn't want to have to ask her boss for an escort on top of it.

But, the number flashing into her face was not that of a witness, but a brother-in-law.

"It's Peter," she relayed to Marshall. Glancing at her watch, "Damn, you're right; it is still early. I wonder what he wants…"

The only way to find out was to answer, and so she put the cell to her ear, holding up her index finger to tell Marshall she would only be a minute, not that he couldn't tell from what was going on.

"Hey…" Mary was never one for a lot of preamble and got straight to the point, eager to return to her bliss-filled gathering with her husband. "What's up?"

"Hi…" Peter's breath came through the speaker like a strong breeze and, while he sounded harassed and anxious, he did not come off to be in a complete panic, so that put Mary's mind at ease at least in part. Apparently, he wasn't a fan of beating around the bush either, because he launched right in. "Are you at the hospital?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I just got a call from one of my salesmen – Brandi fainted at work and they called an ambulance to take her to the ER."

It was as though Mary's knees had turned instantly to Jell-O and a stone the size of an ostrich egg had dropped into her stomach. Apparently, she wasn't allowed to bask in any sort of ecstasy she might feel for long. It was as if someone had come in and whacked her hard in the back of the head with a two-by-four. Luckily, she was still standing close enough to the bed that she could reach the mattress to steady herself. Marshall, seeing this, put on a look of unease and nudged himself slightly to one side so his wife would have more room.

The weight of reality was one of the most crushing blows out there. How could Mary had forgotten such a thing so quickly? Hadn't James taught her anything? You never disregarded what could be around the corner – the robber at midnight, the fork of lightning in the open field, the baby sister and the baby within, prone to prematurity and complication and, it seemed, fainting spells.

Gulping hard, Mary worked not to present herself as being at all terrified because, if Brandi was to be believed, Peter had enough butterflies about childbirth without her adding to them.

"Is…is she okay?"

"I think so, the guy said she came around before the ambulance even showed up, but they went ahead and took her as a precaution."

"What happened? Why did she pass out?"

"I don't know," he wouldn't, as it sounded like he hadn't been there. "But, do you think you could find out where she is and go and see her, make sure she's not freaking out…?"

"Yeah…yeah, I'm on it…" if there was anything Brandi was talented at; it was losing her cool, especially in overly stressful situations. "You don't think this is it, do you?" she was pretty sure she didn't have to define what 'it' was. "She's not in labor?"

"I don't know, but I don't think so," Peter determined. "I just saw her last night and she was fine. I had to leave at the crack of dawn to go to Santa Fe, so she opened up for me this morning. I've been telling her for weeks she needs to quit working, so why I let her talk me into going another day…"

"Wow, I never thought I'd live to see the day you had to beg Brandi _not_ to go to work."

She wasn't sure how well the joke would be received when Peter was already strained being away from his pregnant wife, but she was beginning to feel better knowing the threat of something more serious wasn't on the horizon. Hopefully, she could instill some of this in him before he showed up and turned Brandi into a basket case.

"Listen…I'll track her down; I promise," she knew this was all that he would care about, not her feeble attempts at sarcasm. "Who would've thought being at the hospital would be convenient?"

"Thanks…" he exhaled. "Tell her I can be back in town by eleven."

"Will do," Mary swore. "I'm sure she's all right, Peter. I've seen the havoc these kids in the womb wreak up close and personal – she's nowhere near there yet."

"Right…yeah…" it was apparent he was no longer listening, so it would be best to wrap things up. "Call me when you have an update, won't you?"

"Sure."

And, with that, she hung up, already explaining to Marshall where she was going and what the latest was. He, of course, perfectly understood her cutting their meeting short, giving his best to Brandi while the woman gathered up her tote and threw her phone inside.

While she knew she should feel worried, even sympathetic, toward her little sister, Mary couldn't help feeling energized instead. Marshall's vow to return to their mutual home had surged new life into her, and Brandi was just another witness, another case, another chance to flex her inspector-muscles.

It was amazing how one instance; one promise could turn everything around. This time, for the better.

XXX

**A/N: A touch of good news, if only for a little while! ;)**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Some more sister time in this chapter – this story has quite a bit of that!**

XXX

It took Mary longer than she would've expected to locate Brandi. At first, she thought Peter must've jumped the gun on calling and the ambulance hadn't even made it to Mesa Regional yet. But, then she remembered that she had asked the receptionist in the emergency room for 'Brandi Shannon,' somehow forgetting that she had been 'Brandi Alpert' for eight years now. But, a second trip to the ER to correct herself didn't yield more promising results. No Brandi, Shannon or otherwise, had been admitted as far as they knew.

Unable to do anything, she'd called Peter back to figure out what to do next when her sister was supposedly somewhere in the hospital, but unable to be found. After going around the bend far more than was necessary, she finally gained a scrap of information that turned out to be a jackpot. Brandi had started in the emergency room, but when it was discovered that she was not, in fact, an emergency, was transferred to the maternity ward. Why Peter knew this and Mary didn't, let alone the secretaries in the lobby, she had no idea.

But, she didn't waste any time navigating her way through the corridors to the wing of the hospital where Marshall had first had his little walking excursion. It was the same as she remembered, row upon row of babies in the nursery, room after room housing Buddha-bellied women. One of those, she was glad to see after all her digging, was definitely Brandi, who Mary spotted slumped in a bed through the sliver of glass in the door.

There was only a single nurse in attendance apart from her sister, but it seemed they'd gotten on top of things even in the short space of time Brandi had been there. She already wore a speckled, billowy gown, not unlike the one Marshall had on three floors above them. A machine was beeping away, spooling out a printout that reminded Mary of a seismograph, wavy lines showing peaks and valleys all over the page. The nurse was in the midst of hooking Brandi up to an IV when Mary made her presence known by gliding through the door.

The nurse gave a friendly nod and then got back to business with the IV pole. Brandi looked weak and tired, and although there was fear written in her large, jeweled cobalt eyes, she seemed relatively calm, which impressed Mary. She had been banking on walking in on a mess and this semi-mellow version was a pleasant surprise.

There was no denying she was glad to see someone familiar, however. A small margin of the fright left her orbs when her big sister arrived.

"Oh, Mare…"

Her voice was hoarse, stuffed to the breaking point with unshed tears, more sandpapery and rougher than usual. With an enormous swallow, it appeared that speaking at all was going to be a trigger to setting her off, because the longer she jabbered the more incoherent she became.

"You're supposed to be visiting Marshall…you shouldn't have to come down here…Peter will be here soon…"

She seemed not to notice Mary's hand in her face, a signal that she could be quiet, and kept right on chattering.

"…I'm fine; I'll be fine…it's nothing; I told the guys at work it was nothing, but they made me…"

It wasn't the older Shannon's gestures that finally stopped her, but discomfort. Finishing her sentence became impossible when the monitor indicated her uterus had begun to rock and roll, however lightly. A series of beeps and a new piece of paper, complete with those trademark squiggly lines, signaled the start of a contraction. This didn't boost Mary's confidence as far as labor was concerned, but now wasn't the time to look nervous.

"Ugh…no…" Brandi moaned, closing her eyes and allowing her head to fall sideways onto her pillow. "It doesn't hurt that bad…" her face said otherwise, as did her hand rubbing her rotund stomach. "It…it really doesn't hurt that bad…"

Mary finally decided she needed to head her off, because the excuses were getting silly, nor was there anything believable about them.

"I can handle it…I can handle it; it's not a big deal…"

"Shh…" Mary soothed, coming to a halt at the head of the bed and running her hand slowly over Brandi's hair, which was tangled at the roots. "Shh…come on, Squish; take a breath…"

"I don't need to…" this was followed by a hefty gulp so that she sounded like she was suctioning the surrounding air, which made Mary scoff. "I don't…"

"You could've fooled me," the older interrupted, now stroking the blonde tresses automatically in hopes that it would get Brandi to quit prattling away. "Don't be a hero. Breathe deep…inhale and exhale; you'll feel better…"

No choice now that she was running out of oxygen, the pregnant one finally took her sister's instructions to heart, puffing for air first through her nose and then out her mouth. Whether it was helping as far as the minor pain was concerned, it did seem to get her head on a little straighter and Mary felt confident offering a little bit of well-earned praise.

"There you go; good girl…"

This particular phrasing really made her sound like a mother, Mary reflected, but she wasn't interested in dwelling on that. There was no telling when Brandi would be feeling so level again, and if she wanted to be able to give Peter a run down, she needed details.

"Squish, what happened?"

It took her a few seconds to answer, as she still seemed to be concentrating on breathing, and Mary took the opportunity to sit in that always-convenient chair at the bedside. To pass the time, she watched the screen graphing what seemed to be sporadic and non-threatening contractions, and once it had been clear for several minutes, she didn't feel guilty prodding Brandi another time. Watching her hunched pathetically on her side, eyes flat and fatigued, she decided the least she could do was soften her approach.

"Come on, Squish, tell me what's going on," she whispered, jostling her shoulder gently. "I'm going to find out anyway, and Peter's going to have an aneurysm if I don't have something to report."

But, Brandi only lay there, breathing slowly and staring at a spot somewhere over Mary's shoulder, paying as little attention as possible. It seemed her mind was far-far away, no matter how unruffled she might appear. Unfortunately, the taller didn't have the patience for this and went to a second source.

"Should I be worried?" she addressed the nurse on the other side of the bed, who was prepping Brandi's arm for an IV needle. "Is this charades; I'm supposed to guess?"

Luckily, the nurse chuckled at the acidity, "Can I ask who you are?"

"I'm her sister."

It seemed identification was a moot point, or maybe she could see the Marshal badge glinting on Mary's belt. Either way, she didn't hesitate to share, even if it was completely against standard protocol. Mary had no plans to squeal on her.

"Dehydration," she said shortly. "Not enough fluids for her and that little bambino in there. Fainting is pretty common when that's the case. Not drinking enough water can also lead to…" she paused to jerk her head at the display Mary had been looking at. "Pesky Braxton Hicks contractions. So far, nothing alarming, as Braxton Hicks can be frequent toward the end of the pregnancy, but we'll get the on-call doctor in here soon to rule out anything else."

None of this sounded like anything to lose sleep over and, for that, Mary was grateful. Just in case Brandi hadn't been listening, she conveyed the positive account to her in hopes of brightening her outlook.

"See Squish; you're gonna be out of the woods before you know it…" her optimism was almost frightening, but Marshall being back in her corner did wonders for her. "Just make sure you drink a little more; passing out couldn't have been fun…"

"I felt so awful…" she'd been driven into speech, so that was a start, even if she sounded crestfallen. "I was so dizzy and I could barely stand; I saw these lights popping in front of my eyes…"

"Why on earth did you go to work?" Mary sighed, not wanting to scold, but curious. "You can't tell me Peter stuffed you in a suit and forced you…"

"He's so busy and he's understaffed – he had to go to Santa Fe…!"

"Yeah, he told me that, but…"

"I was just trying to help and instead I was just being stupid…" she pinched her eyes shut and started exhaling again, her hand pushing her bangs off her forehead. "If Tyler hadn't caught me and I'd hit the ground, the baby…"

Mary neither knew nor cared who Tyler was, but the last thing she wanted was for Brandi to start bawling, and so she picked up her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"Bruiser's hanging in there; you need to too…"

"It doesn't hurt…" she repeated, but another pinched gasp accompanied this phrase, and Mary was sure she was likely telling herself whatever she needed to in order to block out the pain. "It really doesn't hurt; it's nothing…"

But, she was whimpering now, and she compressed Mary's hand with a strength so violent that she was surprised it could come from someone so normally small. The only thing she could do was maintain whatever serenity she had and not let her fly off the rails.

"The contractions will be worse if you don't relax…" she murmured. "Calm down and breathe. In and out…"

This only earned her a petulant whine, "You don't know Lamaze; you were never in labor…"

"No, but I had an exploding placenta and if you don't think that's painful then you have another thing coming," Mary snarked. "I'm right here, Brandi. You're okay, but you need to breathe…"

This wasn't exactly 'tough love' but it was as compassionate as Mary could sometimes be, especially when it came to birthing babies, which had always made her markedly jumpy. But, near as she could tell, Brandi was now determined to make this into a production – whatever serenity she had embodied before she'd had a visitor was quickly slipping away. It was odd how the presence of a loved one somehow gave you the unspoken green light to start losing your marbles when you were already afraid.

And, Brandi didn't breathe. She cried – not a full blown sob, but hot, sticky tears trickled down her flushed cheeks nonetheless. Mary was exasperated, but it wasn't as if she hadn't done her share of weeping in the last week. It was probably Brandi's turn, especially given how accommodating she'd been during Mary's times of strife.

With a sigh, the inspector groped for a tissue sticking out of a box on the bottom shelf of the night table and handed it out to Brandi.

"Here…" she mumbled, working her hand back into her sister's the minute she let go of the Kleenex. "Keep it together as best you can, all right? I know that…the unknown is always scary…"

"I'm not scared, I'm just…" Brandi wagged her head and blew her nose. "…Not ready yet, is all."

"Well, neither was I," Mary quipped easily. "I say a kid that comes a week and a half early is better than a whole two months…" And then, not wanting Brandi to think she was entertaining any ideas, "But, I don't think you have to worry about that. Just watch your step from here on out…that'll buy you some more time."

"Did you stay cool when Missy was born?"

The taller blonde guffawed heartily, "Christ, no," there was no sense pretending, not when everybody _but_ Brandi had been a witness to her thespian performance and would rat her out if she lied. "I pretty much covered every end of the spectrum. I hollered at all the doctors and nurses, I put up a mask when people like Peter and Stan came to see me, I didn't say a word while I was being examined, which probably annoyed Marshall because he had to say everything for me. And then, when I found out I had to have the C-section I went to pieces. It was less than flattering, Squish, I promise you."

It was ironic that she was telling this story now, when at the time she had begged Marshall not to blab to anyone that she had been so upset, a blubbering bundle of disarray in his arms, going the full nine yards and asking for James in the midst of it. But, it had been a long time ago now, and it didn't seem so important to keep it a secret anymore. Plus, her far more harrowing experience with having children seemed to be settling Brandi's nerves a little, and that was definitely a goal.

"So, see there, you got off easy…" she finished brightly. "No smoke and flames in this scenario."

"Yeah…" Brandi managed a puny chuckle. "I guess that's true. I've just…"

Here, she took deep breath without Mary telling her to, and the nurse used her release of air to insert the IV needle into her vein. The woman flinched with a noticeable grimace and the Marshal grasped her hand still tighter, letting her know she still planned to be that show of support, should she need it.

"You're good…" Brandi's palm was sweating inside hers, but she didn't let go. "She's already done…"

By 'she' she meant the nurse, who had been remarkably swift and was in the middle of securing the tape around the needle, stretching Brandi's skin to the breaking point. Glad to be through the first poke and prod, she nodded in recognition and got back to her previous thought.

"I've just…I've really been trying to do my research…"

Mary had gotten lost in the lapse between sentences, "Research? On what?" the image of her sister slumped at a table, poring over library books, didn't quite equate.

"Just…on breathing and babies and giving birth…"

"Gee, my favorite kind…"

"I thought if I knew more, I wouldn't be as afraid, and you wouldn't believe how much there is to find out…"

"I'll take your word for it."

"So, I really thought I was prepared – and, I am. At least, I hope I am. But, then I got here and it's like I forgot everything…"

"Yeah, but you can think of this as your trial run," Mary offered, working her fingers out of Brandi's grip now that her touch wasn't as essential, transitioning to rubbing her shoulder. "Practice, you know? When it's for real, you'll know it, and then you'll know it's time to get serious – pull out the big guns."

"I don't know…" Brandi didn't sound convinced, but she already sounded more centered, which was growth. "I'm not just doing it for me, but for Peter…" a long, low exhale followed this. "…He's nervous enough for the both of us."

"Yeah, tell him to buck up," the other recommended, and she wasn't kidding. "When he has to push a bowling ball through a mail slot, he can talk about being nervous."

Brandi looked a little wary upon hearing this, but she laughed softly anyway, "That's a nice image."

"Yeah, and not exactly accurate given the shape of the mail slot, but what are you gonna do?"

She was making herself snigger; surprised she could be so amused at her own comedy. Evidently, it wasn't just in her imagination either, because the overload of gaiety seemed to capture Brandi's attention. Her wheezy giggles faded into slight bafflement and she blinked inquiringly at Mary, allowing her pillow to swallow her more fully.

"What's with you today?" she asked huskily. "You seem…I don't know." Putting her finger on the phrase, "Different, I guess. Looser or something."

"You think so?" Mary played coy, deciding that games might sufficiently distract Brandi from her woes.

"Well…_yeah_…" the emphasis was more like Brandi; she should've just added the 'duh' and had done with it, because apparently Mary's alteration was obvious to anyone with eyes. "I mean, I know how squeamish you can be about the whole pregnancy thing, and you're sitting here playing the coach like it's a breeze…"

"Well, compared to what you have to go through, isn't it?"

"Yeah, thanks for that," the younger jeered, not looking forward to the labor and delivery road ahead, whenever she reached it. "But, seriously. You're like…glowing, almost…"

"_I'm_ not the pregnant one, just in case you've forgotten…"

"Come on, Mare. 'Fess up," the relaxation really was helping; contractions seemed to have completely floated out of Brandi's mind, because nothing could stand in the way of good gossip if it was ripe to be had.

Shifting upward onto her elbow, which earned her a gentle push back into the blankets from her big sister, she fluttered her eyelashes suggestively, waiting for the ball to drop.

"I need _something_ to keep my mind occupied," the blonder bargained. "Who knows how long I'll be here or when Peter will show up?"

"Eleven, he said."

"Mary," it was her chance to be exasperated, and it was startling how their roles had reversed so quickly. "What's going on? If it's good news, why wouldn't you want to share it?"

The inspector felt like saying she had never indicated, at least not verbally, that the 'news' was favorable at all. But, apparently, her body language was enough to give her away, so she kept quiet. In some ways, she didn't know why she was holding out on her sister, because she was over the moon that she was on the right path to regaining her husband. Perhaps it was that age-old adage, 'too good to be true.' If she started broadcasting such kismet, it might come back to bite her in the ass.

And so, she granted herself a few more minutes of rearranging herself in the chair, all the while Brandi's puffy eyes stayed perfectly locked on all her shifty behavior. The nurse even departed in the middle of their exchange, telling them the doctor would be in soon, although neither Shannon answered her.

"Mary, you're stressing me the hell out!" Brandi finally burst, practically having a seizure right there on the bed. "You want me to get worse?! Hurry up! It is something _good_, isn't it?"

Although it was impossible to know if being made to be patient would really spike Brandi's already tenuous blood pressure, Mary decided she had probably waited long enough. Exhaling and wagging her head, trying to downplay the whole thing, still didn't stop the tiniest of smirks from sneaking onto her face.

"I suppose you'd call it 'good.' I would, anyway." And, before Brandi could berate her any further, "When I was upstairs with Marshall before I came to see you, he told me that he's being released tomorrow so long as his vitals stay steady, and that he feels ready to come home. With me."

Attempting to deemphasize the disclosure didn't make a bit of difference. Brandi was a hound for romance, and while she didn't break into song or start squealing, she did smile so broadly that all her teeth were visible, her mouth part-way open in shock. You would never know that five minutes earlier she had been twisting and writhing in pain, griping about her lack of training in motherhood. Mary's supposed storybook ending was all she cared about now.

"I told you that you didn't have anything to worry about!" she exclaimed, reaching out to slap her sister's wrist, but Mary wiggled away.

"That is not true – that is _so_ not true," a correction, complete with a jagged finger in her face. "A, I don't ever remember you saying that. And B, the account of events I gave you the other day was condensed, at best. If you'd been around him, you would've known I had every reason to think he was running out on me…"

"Well, but who cares?" Brandi was easily able to sweep all that under the rug. "It doesn't matter anymore – he'll be back with you and Missy and everything will be just like it was…"

"You are so naive, Squish," Mary snapped, not bashful about doing so now that the pregnant one's condition seemed to be looking up. "This doesn't magically fix anything; it's just a starting point."

"Still, though," her azure eyes were now sparkling not with tears, but with energy, even as she lay sideways and her chest continued to rise and fall with every exaggerated breath. "You're all besotted again, I can tell…"

"_Besotted?_" this was worthy of a hacking noise, as she despised hearing herself described as someone so impossibly girly. "Gross! I am not _besotted_ or anything close to it…"

"_Smitten_, maybe?"

"Enough," she ordered, having to fight giving Brandi a good whack due to her ultra-feminine ways, which were now in full force. "This is exactly why I didn't want to say anything; I'll have to be careful enough with Melissa, making sure she doesn't think…I don't know…Marshall's memory is going to appear out of thin air once he walks through our door…"

"You know that's not going to happen," Brandi insisted. "She's too smart to think that. She'll be thrilled though, won't she?"

"I suppose…"

Mary had said as much to Marshall himself when she had started howling so embarrassingly over his vow to return. But, now she wasn't so sure. Melissa had seemed so off to her lately, like more than her step-father's hardship was troubling her. In fact, she knew that was the case because she knew about the malicious, spoiled little monsters in her class, not to mention her sudden, peculiar confusion with Mark and her expressing a desire to have a father. Marshall reappearing wouldn't repair all those things. At best, he would make them more bearable, but not when he wasn't the Marshall she was used to.

Twisting her hands in her lap, she tried to come up with a credible response to Brandi's assumption, but mention of her daughter had sapped a little of her enthusiasm. She might be happy Marshall was coming around, but she would never fully achieve contentment if Missy wasn't right there beside her to share in it.

"Mary, what?" the younger goaded, seeing that she was keeping something inside.

"No…nothing…" she didn't want to make a show of anything. "Just…Melissa has a ways to go yet. That's all."

Fortunately, Brandi seemed to understand and didn't thrust the issue any further. Instead, she pushed her coarse hair off her face another time and rolled slowly onto her back, breathing low and running a hand over her mountainous belly. Mary took the change in subject and ran with it.

"How you feeling? Any better?"

"Some…" she sighed, stealing a glance at the monitor, which was still charting contractions, but with fewer crests and basins. "I'm still a little dizzy, but lying down helps."

"I'm guessing you'll start to improve soon. The IV will get you hydrated."

"I hope so."

While she was feeling charitable and Brandi was being so humane, Mary decided that if she was going to express anything sentimental, she might as well do it now. Any morning that started off with a distraught daughter, followed by news that nearly made the woman drop to her knees in relief, and concluded with a sister collapsing was already lost on the 'pansy' front.

"Listen, Squish…I'm glad you're okay…" she fought picking up her hand another time, not wanting to take her contributions too far. "Or, seem to be. Not that I wouldn't be anyway, but you've really been a big help lately. Melissa's so discombobulated right now; she's kind of hot and cold on the guys, so she's been lucky to have you to balance things out…"

Brandi smiled warmly, but fortunately did not allow her emotion to get the better of her, because she didn't melt into a second round of tears at her sister's unusual kindness.

"You know I love my little Thumbelina," she uttered with a wink. "If I turn out to be half the mom you are, then _I'm_ the lucky one."

"All right, enough of the sap; it's getting pretty sticky in here."

And, Brandi gave another cackle at being elbowed away from so much honesty in one place.

"Now, _that's_ the Mary I remember."

XXX

**A/N: You never escape a story of mine without a little baby drama!**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: I apologize for my delay in updating this evening. I would've much rather been here with you all than where I actually was.**

XXX

What with Brandi on the mend and Marshall poised to be sprung in less than twenty-four hours, Mary returned to her home on Tuesday evening feeling far more energized than she had when she'd left it that morning. It was still overcast and damp outside, and newscasters kept predicting more threatening storms for the impending week, but this didn't dampen her mood.

Peter had made it to the hospital, as promised, and Brandi was kept the remainder of the day just to ensure she really was out of the woods. The inspector had a fairly good time bouncing from floor-to-floor, yaaking away with her sister and brother-in-law or poring over six-year-old wedding photos with Marshall. It was funny how having a choice between the two was so much more appealing, and if she didn't leave she could guarantee both parties were in top shape. Marshall stayed golden and Brandi's contractions tapered out, meaning she was free to go by four o'clock with warnings to stay off her feet or she would be bed-rest bound in the foreseeable future.

Therefore, for the first time in a week, Mary walked through her front door feeling neither guilty nor depressed. It was close to dinnertime by the time she made it and the sun would've been setting behind the Sandia Mountains had it not been for the cloud cover. Melissa was sitting at the island with Mark, and from her mother's vantage point it looked as though they might be playing a game. The little girl was leaning her chin in her hand, Mark tapping his with the point of his finger. Neither one looked up when the woman entered, so she had to make her presence known.

"Hello-hello…" she'd never been much for broadcasts, as that was more Jinx's department, but it got their attention, at any rate.

Mark called, "Hey, there!" at the same time Melissa shrieked, "Mom!"

The only difference was, Mark's greeting came with a smile, whereas Missy's was escorted by total abandonment of the game, as she leapt off her stool and went crashing on all fours onto the floor. At first, Mary had no idea what she was doing, and the thud she made when she hit the linoleum was discouraging. Then she realized, once Melissa pushed herself back up, that she'd intended to run the length of the room to say hello up close, but had misjudged her landing and wound up on her butt.

"Whoa…sweets, look out…" Mary remarked, peering around the couch to make sure she was okay, but the child ignored her and dashed forward instead. "Where's the fire?"

No answer, just the pitter-patter of little feet on the hardwood, and once she was close enough she did something Mary couldn't ever remember her doing before. She flung her arms around her waist, burying her speckled face in her belly, as that was the highest point of her she could reach. It was unmistakably a hug, and while it was nice, it was also somewhat out of the blue. True, Missy was never shy about bestowing affection on any of her 'boys' but Mary was a different story; they'd never been the touchy-feely types.

But, knowing better than to voice any of this, the blonde just patted her hair and shot Mark a dubious glance while she was sure Missy wouldn't catch her. He shrugged, but didn't seem as surprised as she was. After all, he'd been with her for the better part of the afternoon; perhaps he'd garnered a few clues.

"That was quite a welcome, Melissa…" Mary mused, hoping she sounded nonchalant. Rumpling her hair rather than stroking it, "What's going on? What are you guys playing?"

It was as though her daughter hadn't even heard her, "I missed you," she revealed, muffled with her mouth pressed into the buttons on Mary's shirt.

All this got Mark was another befuddled look from his ex-wife, eyebrows raised and mouthing soundlessly, this glance angrier than the last. On this occasion, he nodded. It appeared their mutual child hadn't been so close-mouthed about expressing her mourning for her mother while she'd been away.

Wanting to release Melissa's iron hold, Mary managed to paw herself partially free, but made sure they didn't stay separate for long. With one arm, she heaved Melissa up like she was a sack of potatoes and within seconds she was perched on her hip, complete with a kiss on her cheek. Rather than show her uneasiness this time, Mary opted to simply kiss her back – loudly, with a lot of smacking and slobbering. She was pleased and satisfied to hear Melissa laugh.

"What happened, huh?" the mother posed it like a joke, like there was no real answer and that she was willing to forget Melissa's clinginess if she was. "You knew where I was, you knew I'd be back…" she even dug her fingers into her ribs to tickle her, which produced a reluctant giggle.

"I just wanted to see you!" she bleated, but with more liveliness than before, squirming away from Mary's nails. "You didn't get to play in our Scrabble game!"

"We can always start over," Mary offered, even though she wasn't much in the mood to inspect a lot of tiny letter tiles. "My guess is, you're winning. Are you beating the pants off Mark?"

"Socks and all," he replied as they came his way and into the kitchen. "You should see some of her words. I had half a mind to pull out a dictionary to make sure she wasn't making them up."

"You'd think he would know by now that you're _way_ superior in the intellect department…" she joshed. "Let me see what you've got…"

On the pretense of reading the words spelled out across the wooden surface, she tried to place Melissa back in her stool, at the very least atop the counter. But, she found herself nearly pulled over when her daughter unexpectedly hung on, dangling like a pendant from her mother's neck. She was able to keep from making a sputtering, choking sound, but it wasn't easy. Because she had to, she stood back up and Missy wound her legs around her waist once more.

Still, Mary did not play games like this. If there was a problem, she was going to make Melissa speak up, not allow herself to be a coat rack for a distraught little girl.

"Come on, sweets…enough…" she was gentle, but firm and she distinctly felt the eight-year-old undo her clutches. "I'm not going anywhere."

Perhaps self-conscious about being called out on her atypical manner, Melissa pouted once she came free, curling up in the stool like a cat with her legs tucked under her. Knowing she should recognize the fact that she had listened, Mary tousled her hair another time and remained true to her word. She didn't steal away to the pantry, even though she was starving, having only survived on hospital food in the cafeteria at lunchtime.

"See what I came up with, mom?" Melissa yanked on her hand just to certify her parent couldn't get away. "I got two double word scores and everything…"

"I believe that," she echoed, finally with a chance to survey the board. One word in particular caught her eye and she thumped Missy's shoulder with her fist, a show of admiration. "Did you really play 'belabor?'"

"Yup!" she crowed proudly. "And I only learned that word this morning!"

"She's a phenom, I tell you…" Mark chimed in, but Melissa paid him no mind.

"Did you eat dinner yet?" she chattered at the woman. "I told Mark I wanted to wait because I wanted to eat with you."

"Well, you're in luck because I haven't…" glad she had been the one to bring up food. "But, you mind if I tell you a couple things before we eat?"

Her face clouded over almost at once, like Mary had just announced they had plans to cross the Pacific Ocean in a canoe. The change in her demeanor was alarming, but there was something strange about her demeanor anyway. While Mary was glad she seemed to be perking up, and she couldn't fault her for being excited to see her, there was no denying her neediness. Melissa thrived on attention, but she usually didn't have to work so hard for it. Was she lonely? Worried? Something else entirely?

"It…it's nothing bad…" Mary tried to cover her tracks, but then remembered half of her news and decided to be a little more truthful. "Well, one thing is not exactly good, but it's nothing for you to get bent out of shape about. Everything's fine now…"

"What's everything?" Melissa wanted to know, still looking highly mistrustful.

"Well…" she decided she would start with the inauspicious information first, although she still didn't think Missy should be alarmed in the least. "Brandi had a little bit of a scare today; she had to go to the hospital…"

At once, the little girl's jade eyes grew round behind her glasses, "Oh, no!" it would've been comical that she sounded so melodramatic, like a stage actor, if Mary hadn't realized how worried she really was about her aunt.

"Sweets, she's perfectly okay…it wasn't a big deal at all…"

"What happened?!" she was whining now; she sounded tired, worn out, and Mary knew she must be because she only got shrill when she didn't have the energy to debate. "Did Mark know?" Whipping around to shoot him a look that was half dread, half aggravation, "Why didn't he tell me if he knew?"

The inspector couldn't immediately discern whether she was accusing Mark, if she was mad at him, or if she was simply upset that yet another anomaly had forced its way into her life, albeit one that scarcely effected her. In any case, she decided she'd better give Mark his due; they didn't need him in hot water with Missy if they could help it.

"He did know, but it was my fault that he didn't tell you; I asked him not to…"

"WHY?!"

In an instant, all the fondness she had been showering on her mother was gone. She was clearly distressed, and whether it really came from concern over Brandi, Mary couldn't be sure, but she knew she didn't like it. Watching her, now perched on her knees on the barstool, she saw desperation, heard how strident her voice was becoming. This might not be the time to be a battleaxe, but it was better to nip this attitude in the bud before it got any further – at least until Mary had a chance to sit down and talk to her daughter.

"Melissa, stop yelling," she ordered, her timbre low, but non-threatening. "I don't like seeing you like this. What's the matter?"

"_Nothing…!_" so much for not yelling; this came in a bellow. "I thought something was wrong with Brandi and the baby; that's what you said…!"

"But, you didn't let me finish," Mary interrupted sharply. "Brandi passed out while she was at work; that means she…"

"Fainted, I know."

The rudeness, the dismissive nature, was not at all like Missy. And, Mary could see from the look on Mark's face over the child's shoulder that he had noticed it too. Whatever was going on with her, it wasn't 'nothing.'

But, regardless of her sudden prissiness, the blonde decided she would just continue, not wanting to make a bad situation worse.

"Yes, she fainted. And, she went to the hospital and they found out she just wasn't drinking enough water; it made her dizzy and messed with her balance…" bringing up equilibrium probably wasn't a good idea, not when you considering Melissa's predicament in that area, but it was already out of Mary's mouth before she could stop herself. "…But, she already went home; Peter took her just a little while ago. She's fine now; she just has to be a little more careful…"

"Like how?" Missy countered.

Before Mary could answer, Mark broke in, "She's due in about a week and a half, right?"

"Yeah, something like that," the woman confirmed. Turning back to her daughter, "She can still drive and go out and walk around, but her doctor doesn't want her on her feet for long periods of time, so she's not going to work anymore," that should make Peter happy. "So, if she's over here hanging out with you like I sometimes have her do if I'm gone, I need you to give her some help, okay?"

Mary had debated, halfway through her explanation, with whether or not she wanted to enlist Melissa to aide her pregnant aunt. When she said 'help' she didn't mean with anything major; she'd just wanted her daughter to feel useful, grown up, involved. She'd been in the dark on so much of Marshall's recovery, that she'd wanted to give her a chance to feel engaged in what was going on with Brandi. She was normally so kind that she loved to lend a hand wherever she could, and lord knew she could use the distraction from her everyday life.

"What am I supposed to help her with?" Melissa queried after a pause, although she didn't seem resistant to the idea.

"You know…get her a drink if she wants one, keep her from getting bored…" the mother offered lamely, realizing that she hadn't quite thought this through. "Nothing you can't do, girly. You'd entertain her without even trying."

The little girl still didn't look sold, but Mary was willing to bet she would be right on board once the moment present itself. She loved to appear knowledgeable, to spread her always-brimming wealth of information. And, Mary knew that Brandi was still going to be around quite a bit, not having been sanctioned to bed rest just yet, and her sister wasn't going to be responsible for landing her back in the ER.

"Brandi would love to have you as her little assistant," Mark put in his two cents. "I bet you could come up with a whole list of things to do the next time she's over."

For the third time, it was as though the man had not said a word. Missy did not even glance at him, but jumped right back into specifics with Mary.

"She's really okay, though?" she wanted to know, teetering on the edge of the stool now. "You promise?"

"Yes, I promise, but…" Mary got through swearing allegiances quickly; the way she was ignoring Mark was becoming all-too obvious, and she wasn't going to stand for it. "Melissa, Mark is talking to you…"

The mentioned tried to wave her down, "No, it's fine, really…"

"It's not," there would've been a time when it would've seemed ridiculous for Mary to school anyone on manners, but times had changed. "If he says something to you, you need to answer him. You know better than to blow someone off. What has gotten into you…?"

"I told you that I missed you!" all this earned her was another screech, her instructions about Mark completely cast aside. "I just wanted to talk to _you_ – I've talked to Mark all night; I'm not trying to be mean, I just didn't know when you'd be home or what was going on and I didn't know Brandi was sick; you should've let him tell me…"

"All right, sweets…okay…" Mary sighed, cutting off her run-on and pinching her temples between her fingers, letting her win for now. "I'm sorry. I know you've been kind of on an island lately; that's not fair. But, you don't want to hurt Mark's feelings…"

"I can tough it out," he insisted with a grin when Melissa rotated back around to look at him, as if she could determine by staring if she had bruised his ego. "I understand, Missy Jean. I know you just wanted to see your mom."

"Yeah, but what do you say?" Mary provoked, probably unwisely.

She was unsure if her newfound stimulation over Marshall was providing her with a daring she wouldn't have ordinarily acted on, or what. If Mark rolling his eyes when Missy wasn't looking was any indication, he clearly thought Mary should drop the etiquette lessons, especially when the second grader was already so disconcerted. But, she was the mother, and she didn't want her child to think she could get away with being uncouth; Marshall never would've allowed it, had he been himself.

Fortunately, in spite of her ongoing unrest, Melissa still knew when Mary meant business. So, she looked Mark in the eye and recited her lines, pitch-perfect.

"I'm sorry. What did you want to tell me?"

The man had probably forgotten at this point, but he just smiled genially, "I just said you'd do a great job keeping an eye on Brandi. She'd be lucky to have a little buddy like you by her side while she waits for that baby to come out."

Melissa blinked, and in a flat, non-emotive tone said, "Thank-you."

It was entirely obligatory and didn't sound at all sincere, but Mary wasn't going to push the envelope now. Instead, she closed her hand around the stool and whirled her daughter back to face her, making sure she had her undivided attention. Now, she was beginning to be apprehensive about how she would take the news about Marshall. Part of her was still hoping she'd be happy – after all, she'd said that very morning that all she wanted was for him to come home, and now he was. But, the bad temper she seemed to be in didn't make Mary very sure of anything. The unpredictably threw her off guard. She hated unpredictable.

"Enough about Brandi," she used this as a segue. "What happened is nothing earth-shattering, and Peter is taking good care of her. What I actually wanted to tell you has to do with Marshall."

There was every reason to think as she uttered this announcement that they were going to have to go through the same song and dance all over again. Melissa opened her mouth, perhaps to start arguing before they even got started, her weary eyes looking lifeless and watery at the same time. But, this time, Mary was ready; she didn't let her get a word in edgewise before powering right on.

"I saw him today, and he's doing really well…"

"Can he walk?" Missy barged in almost manically.

"Not without his crutches, but yes, he can walk. They got him a new cast and everything, one that's easier to move around in…"

"Has he fallen again?" all the interruptions were making Mary feel like she was being pulled two different directions, like if she didn't give Melissa the answers she wanted that she would blow her top again.

Still, she did her best to humor her, "Not today. He's even off his IV, which means he can eat more than soup and Jell-O. I brought him a chicken sandwich for lunch and you'd have thought it was a three-course dinner."

Mark chuckled at this, clearly sensing that this was going uphill, but Missy still didn't seem to have bought into any sort of hopeful happenings. After all, the last time she had laid eyes on Marshall, he had barely been able to breathe properly and stumbled to the ground at the lightest touch, weak as a feather. Still, now was the time to debunk any of her misconceptions; surely there couldn't be anything _too_ negative about him recuperating. It was what they all wanted.

"Anyway, what I'm getting at here is that as long as he has a good night, he will be able to come home tomorrow. No more hospital; he's healthy enough to be out on his own."

Trying to curb any of her own exhilaration had no effect on Mark, who leapt out of his chair like he planned to pull out actual bells and whistles to mark the occasion. His stark goofiness made him seem like a giant, blown-up cartoon next to the two women. Melissa had barely moved, but he expertly ignored her.

"Now, _that_ is what I like to hear!" he roared exuberantly. "That is no easy feat, being out of the hospital just a week after an accident like that; the guy is a fighter, I've always thought so…"

"He's lucky," Mary stated pointedly, trying to show him with her eyes rather than her words to simmer down. "Very lucky. Melissa and I will have our work cut out for us keeping him healed up…"

"Even so, Mare…" for a moment, he seemed to forget Melissa was present, stepping into her inner circle and staring meaningfully into her eyes. "The relief has to be incredible. He's gonna be okay…"

But, the child did not intend to be overlooked for long, for she proved she heard every word of Mark's speech even though it wasn't directed at her.

"He still won't remember me."

This shook Mark back to the present quickly enough, and he backed up, giving his ex a free path to her daughter, who was looking stony. There was something forced in her gaze, however. If Mary looked hard enough, she thought she could see glimmers of light, of belief in her decidedly frigid eyes. Some part of her, however small, was excited that Marshall would be back under their roof. She just didn't want to show it. The disappointment involved if it didn't work out was probably too strong.

"I know…" Mary breathed in response to Missy's proclamation. "And, it's not the same. I know that too. But, he can't get back on track if he doesn't spend more time around you, and this will give him that opportunity…"

"Why would he want to get to know me better?" now she sounded critical, like she thought her mother might be touched in the head. "He doesn't act like it."

"Because he loves you," Mary was unyielding on that, whatever the evidence to the contrary. "Melissa, you _know_ he loves you. You remember the last eight years…" or most of them. "He doesn't, but that doesn't negate everything he's done for you just because his brain misplaced the information."

"What if he just tried harder to remember?"

"He can't help it, sweets; I know that's hard to understand…"

"No, it's not," she snapped. "I just wondered. That's all."

This was said with a finality, like perhaps she didn't wish to talk about her step-father anymore. If that was the case, Mary would rather have her be agreeable and lively once Marshall arrived, if she was saving it for that moment. So, that left them in a rather awkward silence, broken by Mark, who apparently still wished for the little girl to look on the bright side.

"Well…regardless of all the little…tidbits that still need to get back into place, you can't deny it's _awesome_ he will soon be back where he belongs, right?"

Mary didn't entirely grasp this statement, as Mark seemed to have fumbled what he was saying halfway through, but Melissa recognized the question and, because she'd already been reprimanded once, wasn't going to let it happen again.

"Right," she muttered, but she didn't look like she thought it was 'awesome' at all.

Conceding defeat this time, Mark gave an exaggerated shrug, "Well, my girls…I had better let you get to your dinner; I'm sure you're both hungry…"

"I am!" Melissa piped up, suddenly looking more vigorous than she had in several minutes. "Can we have pizza, mom? I saw one in the freezer."

"Uh…sure…" she agreed, thrown once again by the one-eighty in her temperament. "If that's what you want. First, though, why don't you go put your pajamas on? I know it's early, but it looks like you got something on those overalls…" she flicked the bib, where a stain had dried. "Let me wash them so I don't forget later."

"Okay…" she slipped down off the chair and onto the floor, fully intending to do as her mother said, but got stopped before she could depart too quickly.

"Hey, Mark's leaving so tell him goodbye, all right?"

Perhaps sensing that she wasn't going to be endeared to this idea, the man extended his arm and pulled the little girl up by the straps of her overalls like she was a puppet or a pulley system. Normally, he was much more cautious about roughing her around – more so, indeed, than Marshall or Stan – but it seemed he was itching to get in her good graces. Mary was gladdened to see that she did giggle, although she swallowed it fast, like she didn't want to be caught.

"I'll see you soon, Missy Jean," flipping her around, he planted a kiss on one of her cheeks, cradled like a baby in his arms. "I love you."

"Love you, too."

This didn't sound quite so mechanical, for which Mary was grateful, but she didn't miss her daughter worm herself out of his grip as soon as they'd said their farewells. He let her go, watching her dash down the hall, slamming the door to her bedroom without even looking back.

Now that she was gone, Mary rounded on him, although she didn't know why she started off on such a biting note. Whatever was off kilter with Melissa, it wasn't his fault. He was just the messenger.

"What is _wrong_ with her?" she hissed, standing about two inches from his face and trying to keep her voice down on the off chance Melissa was listening at her door. "Has she been like this all night?"

Mark sighed, his eyes journeying skyward a second time, which Mary took as a sound 'yes.' Before answering, he lightly shoved her back, for which she couldn't blame him. He could probably smell her breath, and hospital food wasn't known for its wonderful odor.

"Depends on what you mean by 'this,'" he drew air quotes around the final word. "But, I would say yes, either way. I could not get you off her mind; every ten minutes she would ask when you'd be home; I thought the Scrabble might sidetrack her, but…"

Without thinking, Mary whacked his bicep in frustration; it couldn't really have hurt him, but he looked irritated nonetheless. She might've enjoyed more than the usual amount of levity at the hospital, but that didn't mean she wouldn't have been open to returning to her daughter sooner, especially for as badly as she'd seemed to need her.

"Why wouldn't you call me, you douche?!"

"The name calling does not become you," he observed dryly, eyes narrowing into slits. "Honestly, someone should give _you_ a refresher in manners. Is Eleanor available?"

"Can it…come on…" but, she tried to tone it down, because being juvenile wasn't going to get her anywhere. "What were you thinking? If she was dying to see me that badly, why wouldn't you pick up the phone?"

"Because I was _trying_…" the accent there was too strong to be coincidental. "…To do what you asked me. _You_ wanted me to take on a bigger role, so I figured if you wouldn't shut up about it then now was the time to test the waters. Well, FYI…"

He didn't need to finish. Mary could already feel her face growing hot and could tell by the scowling look he was giving her that his attempt at forming a tighter bond with his biological daughter had taken a serious nosedive.

"…It was a spectacular _fail_," apparently, he felt it was prudent to wrap up, anyway. "Look, Mare, I know you meant well, but I would advise forgetting it. She is too smart; she knows something is up; you saw the way she wouldn't even look at me…"

"But, that could just be because she's all out of sorts about Marshall; you saw that too, right?"

"She's out of sorts about _everything_," only Mark would be so bold to say it out loud, as it was something that Mary had avoided facing at all costs because she didn't want to deal with it. "And, I told you; forcing myself on her is only going to make things worse; she will pull away…"

He might be right, but Mary wasn't ready to give up yet. But, he must've realized that she would try to jump back on her horse, because he didn't spare her a second to begin a dispute. There was more at stake for him than just Melissa's feelings, and Mary was about to find out what.

"I am not willing to risk her running away from me because of some half-assed plan you cooked up…" now he was the one who was standing too close, probably because he didn't think Mary would listen to him otherwise. "_I'm_ the one who loses there, and you're not the only one who should have a say…"

"Mark, I just thought…"

"I am – and this is the only time you will hear me say this – _I am_ her father…" this timbre was so quiet, but so urgent that Mary could still hear him perfectly well; his voice came in a growl and, if she hadn't known Mark was such a softie at heart, she would've been scared. "My vote counts for something too, and I'm going right back to acting how I did before; there was nothing wrong with that…"

"I'm not saying there was…" when she was able to speak up, she kicked one of his feet with her own, which made him totter but at least it put more space between them. "I mean…what did you even do that she found so offensive?"

"I don't think it was anything specific, but she knew I was trying too hard," he bemoaned. "I asked her to spend the night with me since she used to love doing that now and then, and you'd have thought I'd suggested we pack up and hike through the mountains with no map…"

"All right, all right…I get it…" the woman admitted grudgingly, although she was far from close to completely throwing in the towel; she still had her own doubts about Marshall and, once she adjusted, she still thought Missy would appreciate Mark's involvement. "Don't pop a vessel."

At this, he ran his hand through his closely-cut hair, so there wasn't much to mess up, but it seemed to be a gesture of reprieve, like he thought perhaps he'd gotten through to his ex-wife. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Also, in typical Mark fashion, he seemed to think he had cut a little too close to the bone; he never lost his temper and always felt some measure of remorse when he did.

"Like I said…I-I know your intentions were good…"

"Uh-huh…"

"But, I think we need to not work at it so much. Missy has enough to worry about…"

"Well, I hear you on that."

Her concurrence seemed to make him feel that it was safe to depart, that he wouldn't be leaving Mary with any wild prospects to stew in her mind until they next met. With a stiff smile that made him appear as though he had lockjaw, he glanced over his shoulder at the sound of Melissa's door opening another time. Not wanting to look suspicious, he leapt into action, knowing he'd said he was leaving five minutes ago.

"I'll see you guys, all right?"

"You can count on it."

Mary saw him just in time. He leaned in, his lips aiming for their intended target of her cheek in his usual goodbye kiss. Once his head was out of the way, not obscuring the hallway, she spotted Melissa standing there in her plaid pants and oversized T-shirt. There was no mistaking that she was staring right at them, and Mary acted on instinct, pushing Mark out of the way so that he ended up missing her cheek entirely and catching a mouthful of blonde hair.

Before he could express his confusion, and taking advantage of the fact that his ear was so close to her mouth, she whispered, "Don't. Don't kiss me."

He seemed to know he shouldn't say anything out loud, judging by her stealthy conduct, but he narrowed his brows anyway, looking for some kind of explanation.

"She saw you do it the other day and…" her lips were barely moving, not wanting to hazard Missy being able to read them. "…I don't know. She seemed to think it meant we were some kind of…item."

This definitely manufactured a result. Mark looked something between amused and horrified, which summed up their prehistoric-relationship pretty well. Fortunately, he kept his thoughts to himself and stayed as clandestine as he woman had.

"Is she back there?"

The inspector nodded, which definitely his cue to exit.

"Good luck tonight. Not to be cryptic, but you may need it."

And, Mary had to think he was probably right.

XXX

**A/N: Missy still not herself, but you can't expect her to be!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: Much appreciation for the reviews! You guys are the best!**

XXX

"Easy…cool it; don't try to go so fast…"

"I didn't know this qualified as 'fast.'"

"It is when you're down a leg, so don't make me take your crutches."

"That doesn't fall under domestic abuse?"

"Not a jury around would convict me."

Mary and Marshall were standing on their driveway, he in his regular clothes for the first time in a week, which happened to include jeans, which had been hard to get on what with his bulky cast and sprained ankle. A red T-shirt covered by a navy jacket completed the ensemble; by all accounts, he looked like an ordinary man who'd simply taken a tumble one afternoon, not at all the worse for wear. Of course, the jacket concealed his bandaged arm with the array of stitches decorating it, his face was still an interesting shade of purple around his eyes, and the crutches were a dead giveaway, but none of this seemed important in the least.

Here he stood, a crutch under each arm, blinking in the late afternoon sunshine, puddles sparkling in the street from the rain the day before. Mary had actually been startled by how gaunt he appeared in natural light, his skin a fleshy white, but this meant his beard was a good addition because it distracted from his paleness. The ride over from the hospital had been a slow one; Marshall teasing her relentlessly because she drove too slowly and was constantly taking her eyes off the road to make sure he wasn't passing out or to ensure he was comfortable enough. Eventually, she'd gunned the gas a little harder, insisting all the while that he wasn't the _only_ reason she was more brake-happy. Eight years with Melissa in the back seat meant she wasn't quite the speed demon she used to be.

Now, she was just trying her best not to escort him by his arm into the house; she knew he needed to get acquainted with his walking sticks, but she could barely suppress the urge to give him assistance. Still, he was patient with her, gently reminding her that he was okay, he could manage, and if there came a time when he couldn't that he would speak up.

Here, on the asphalt, he had finally taken pause to catch his breath after getting out of the car and appeared to be taking in his surroundings more fully. Mary felt lucky that, even if he thought he had never lived in it, he had at least been to her house in his current memory and knew his way around it. Still, there seemed to be a few eccentricities that she had never noticed, but things that apparently caught his eye here on a freeing Wednesday afternoon.

"Where did those flowers come from?"

Mary turned, eyes traveling to where he was pointing, and saw the bed of marigolds bursting beside her front porch. 'Bursting' was actually an overstatement, as the cooler weather and winter approaching meant they were wilting fast, their once-prosperous yellow petals turning brown and floppy. With the rain that had come on Tuesday, the dirt they resided in had turned to mud, drowning their poor stems.

"You and Melissa planted those. I guess it was about two years ago. There are some more in the backyard," she told him. "Marigolds and lilacs mostly…"

"Lilacs," he repeated before she could finish.

"Sure," Mary shrugged, not understanding the dazed look on his face, why he seemed to have departed the conversation momentarily. "What?"

"No…" he shook his head as though chasing a fly away, straining to get back in the present. "I just…I like lilacs."

"Of course you do," his wife assured him. "Why do you think you planted them? Melissa chose the marigolds and you chose the lilacs."

"But…I feel like…" he stalled again, still with that far-away gleam in his pale blue eyes. "…I mean…I'm probably wrong…"

"About what?" Mary prodded, no earthly idea where this was going, but curious to see what he pulled out.

"Well…" a sigh as Marshall leaned more fully on one of his crutches, elevating his bad leg off the ground part-way so he wouldn't have to put so much weight on it while he thought. "Did I ever bring you lilacs?"

Mary was utterly nonplussed by this question and was sure her face must've shown it. Her memory might be better than his, but that didn't mean she remembered every tiny detail from all their years ago, the eight since Melissa had come along and the near-decade they had spent as partners. One thing was for sure, she had never been a woman who was wooed by flowers.

Trying to avoid making the man feel stupid, she just tried to smile, "When would you have brought me lilacs?" perhaps if she made it sound as absurd as she felt it was, he would catch on.

"But…when you were shot. Didn't I bring you flowers?"

"You mean when I was released from the hospital?"

"Yeah…"

"I guess you did…" Mary had to stand corrected here, and a sudden vision flashed through her mind of a nurse wheeling her down the hall, Marshall by her side, she praising his sweetness for thinking to bequeath her with a small souvenir. "But…weren't those yellow? Lilacs are purple."

"Well, usually they are," he pointed out, his academia shining through. "But, species have been known to bloom in white, pink, burgundy…and, sometimes pale yellow…"

Something about this sentence sparked a kind of déjà vu in the woman, although she couldn't place where she'd heard it before. Surely Marshall was the one who had said it to her, and yet she couldn't imagine when. If the buds he had given her after the shooting really were lilacs, why couldn't he recall for certain, as he had retained his memories from that time? Still though, she was pretty sure she would be able to remember him spouting such useless information at her after she'd had a bullet go through her gut, and she didn't.

"Maybe…maybe that is when you gave them to me…" this was the only explanation Mary could come up with, although something about it still didn't fit. "I…I don't remember."

"Yeah, well…obviously I don't either," he chuckled good-naturedly, which Mary took as a cue to drop the subject; they'd been standing in the driveway for several minutes now and the breeze was getting cold.

"Anyway…it doesn't matter…" the female inspector deduced. "You ready to head inside? Take a load off?"

"I suppose it would be about that time," he concluded, repositioning his crutches so as to swing forward once more. "I assume Melissa is here, but intelligence aside, I don't imagine you left her by her lonesome…"

"No," Mary laughed. "Jinx is here. That's her car…" she jerked her had at the vehicle parked at the curb. "I thought about having Mark watch her, but I wanted to keep things a little more low key…just family…" Immediately realizing how that sounded and aghast that she had let it slip, Mary rushed to correct herself, "I mean – Mark is family, of course he is; I just meant…" truthfully, she didn't know what she'd indicated and tried to shut up, to erase the moment. "Damn, if he'd heard me say that…"

"It's okay; I knew what you meant – just a slip of the tongue."

Marshall was willing to sweep the gaffe aside, but Mary couldn't forget it so easily. With more reflection, she realized that she had probably slipped-up because she'd been trying to avoid saying that Melissa had been resisting Mark as of late; she didn't want Marshall to know that. Instead, it had come out as something entirely different, something she never wanted her ex-husband to be privy to.

"He'll actually be over later – Stan too, maybe Brandi if she's feeling up to it…" the blonde was still trying to make up for what she had uttered, even though no one who might be insulted was around. "…I wanted to start slow, but they all really want to see you; I thought we'd have dinner together or something…"

"Sure, that sounds fun…"

"But, only if you're okay with it; if you're too tired, I can call them all off…"

"Boy, you are such a nursemaid; I never would've guessed," he joked. "Didn't you hear? I said it would be fun – for me and for Melissa, I gather."

"Well…" Mary scolded herself to not act so jittery, to calm down, because she was rambling a mile a minute trying to be accommodating, and instead she just sounded unorganized and sloppy. "I hope so. She's been pretty short on fun lately."

"On that note…" this was the second time they had attempted to make for the door and hadn't even put one foot forward. "We best announce our presence. The cavalry's here, right?"

And, with one arm spread out as far as it would go with his crutches impeding him, he designated the front steps, perhaps to tell Mary she could lead the way. It was foolish, really, that she was so hesitant when she'd practically been praying on her hands for him to come home. But, however Melissa was going to react was going to be a complete mystery, and she didn't want Marshall's arrival marred with sullenness or any kind of bad attitude. Maybe the absence of Mark for most of the day would've lifted her spirits, even though the mother still felt badly her ex-husband was getting the shaft where that was concerned.

"Yeah…no sense standing around wasting time…" she made herself say. "You need help on the stairs?" even though there was only one leading to the pathway to the front door.

"I'll let you know," this was only the fifth or sixth time he'd said that, and Mary chuckled, her cheeks pinking at the thought that she couldn't seem to quit coddling him. He must've noticed, because he said, "Look, if this had happened to you, you wouldn't have been able to keep me from fussing over you. Only difference is, you would've socked me in the nose eventually, and I have no plans to go that route."

"Small favors," Mary mused.

With that, they set off once again, Marshall managing the single step perfectly well if he kept his crutches anchored above and hitched his feet in soon after. Mary turned the knob once they reached it and went in first, half-expecting to see Jinx standing in the foyer with a gaudy 'welcome home' sign. She and Brandi had certainly gone all-out after her shooting, but it seemed her mother had gotten the hint when it came to being understated this time.

The house was quiet, the feeble sunshine trying to sneak its way through the net curtains on the front window. A blanket, set of sheets, and a pillowcase were folded on the arm of the sofa, for that would be Mary's sleeping quarters while Marshall took up all the space in their once-shared bed. Everything else looked as it always did, at least from the woman's point of view. Jinx, it transpired, was flipping through a magazine at the island, but Mary heard the distinct scrape of a chair on linoleum, which meant she had ascertained that her daughter and son-in-law had arrived.

"You may be suffocated by hugs and kisses here, so beware…" Mary managed to slip in a joke, knowing how Jinx tended to go overboard in the affection department.

"There are worse things," her husband decided.

And, with much tottering of her high-heeled shoes and with hands fluttering all about her face, Jinx pranced her way into their vicinity, looking all lit up at the prospect of them arriving as a couple. It seemed she had been eating something, because she swallowed before making introductions.

"Hello, you two!"

"And to you…" Marshall reciprocated, nodding his head, as he couldn't do much else when he had to hang onto his crutches. "It's good to see you, Jinx."

"It's _wonderful_ to see _you_, dear…" she mooned just like the grandmother she was, clasping her hands in front of her chest, which caused a sprinkling of crumbs to dust the carpet when she rubbed her fingers together. "You look so good; it must be fabulous for you to be out of that hospital…"

"Well, better out than in – like most things," he wisecracked. "I can only figure that my bed here will be more comfortable than the one there, so that's already a point for 'home.'"

"It should be all ready for you…!" Jinx leapt in at once, always thrilled to be of service. "I spruced things up back there when Mary went to get you, and I pulled some linens for you, honey…" she motioned toward the pile of cloth on the sofa. "…I'm sure they're clean, but if you need me to wash them, I can do a load…"

"No, mom, that's okay…" the blonde cut her off while she still could. "Thanks for getting everything set. It's easier for everyone."

But, it seemed that the brunette simply could not get over the good fortune of having Marshall up and around, because she continued to smile so benevolently that it almost became creepy, fluttering her eyelashes and sighing in contentment. Eventually, Marshall opted to get the ball rolling a little faster and hobbled his way slightly further forward, so that he was close enough to peck Jinx's cheek. There seemed to be a lot of that going around lately.

"I'm sure it will be lovely," he surmised. "My gratitude as well. Not just for this…" he indicated the house while his mother-in-law continued to look near tears. "…But, for everything. I know it hasn't exactly been effortless for anyone while I've been laid up, so thanks for taking care of my girl here…"

Mary didn't know what made him call her that, and was suddenly reminded of Mark's complaints the night before about how Melissa had been able to discern that he was 'trying too hard.' Was that what Marshall was doing, to make up for ever considering not rejoining the family? If so, he was likely a much better actor than Mark, because her stomach had lurched excitedly when he'd claimed any kind of ownership to her, as it were.

But, because she didn't want to get into a full-on weepy reunion, she simply smiled and patted his arm in recognition, taking his phrasing and running with it.

"Speaking of girls…" she shifted seamlessly, trying to ignore Jinx's lovesick gawking. "Where's Melissa? Is she out back, or…?"

"Oh, she's playing in her room," Jinx affirmed. "I'll go grab her; I'm sure she will be absolutely _ecstatic_ that you're here, Marshall…"

Mary couldn't be at all sure of that, but the grandmother was already off and running, bustling down the hall to find the little girl and bring her forth. In the short space of time the two inspectors had together before the other pair returned, Mary decided on the spot that she had better give Marshall a little head's up. He wasn't walking into a relationship with Missy completely blind; he knew she had her reservations and her doubts, but just in case he was expecting something better, his wife thought she'd better enlighten him.

"Listen…" she whispered, realizing for the first time that she probably should've suggested Marshall sit down and elevate his leg, but it hadn't occurred to her. "…Melissa might seem a little strange…"

"Strange?"

"Well, not strange," what was wrong with her mouth today? "…Just, quiet…maybe even a little defiant," there, that was slightly better, but also exponentially negative. "I mean, I don't know what she'll do, but just know that she's kind of taken a turn in the last few days, like she's having a harder time dealing, but…"

"No, of course, I understand," Marshall insisted once he got all the facts. "I'll do my best to be mellow – not push too hard."

It seemed everybody knew that was a favorable method except for Mary.

"Thanks," she murmured, just as she heard the door open and close from ten feet away.

Melissa and Jinx couldn't have been more polar opposite if they'd tried. Jinx was positively bubbling over with anticipation, which meant she must've been deaf and blind to Missy's performance, or lack thereof. The eight-year-old trailed rather inexpertly behind the older woman, her eyes large and round behind her glasses, but looking as though she was being led to the gallows for the execution. Perhaps Mary just saw it this way because she was such a glaring contrast to her grandmother, but there was no denying she looked bare, faltering, even scared. The last time she'd seen Marshall was when he'd plummeted unexpectedly to the ground, but he'd made great strides since then. Mary hoped her daughter would be open-minded enough to see that.

Tiptoeing like a mouse, as though she were afraid of some unknown being lurking around, Missy finally came into full view when Jinx floated off, the lamp beside the couch throwing her face into sharper relief. Silently, she stared up at the two individuals before her as if to say, 'now what?'

Mary gambled that, as the most cognizant of the group, she should be the one to initiate proceedings.

"Hey, sweets; how's it going?"

Nothing. Not even a waver. Just that same ogle, which would grow eerie before long. Apparently, she wasn't one to buy her mother's indifference, not when the step-father she had 'almost gotten killed' was by her side, acting as if nothing had happened.

"What were you doing in your room?" a more basic question, not so broad.

This one garnered an answer, and while it was Mary who had asked it, it was Marshall that she looked at the entire time.

"Playing."

"Playing what?" this was like pulling teeth.

"Actually, I was drawing," she changed her mind. "But, I'm not very good."

"That's not true; I've seen your pictures," Mary encouraged, and she had Jinx to back her up, who also seemed to be put-off by Melissa's dullness.

"They're all on my refrigerator," the dancer boasted. "You'll have to teach Brandi's little one to be an artist when he's old enough to hold a crayon…"

The child sidestepped all the compliments, "I tried to add words and I messed up. I spelled something wrong."

"Yeah, but I bet we'll still be able to tell what you mean," Mary assumed breezily. "Where is it? Can I see it?"

Like on so many other occasions, Melissa glanced down at the bib of her overalls. Today, she wore the khaki ones Jinx had given her, an orange and brown striped shirt underneath so that she looked the picture of autumn. Mary wondered, even though these overalls were newer, just how many things had gone into that beloved front pocket in the time since she'd gotten them. The denim pair had been emptied of many an odd assortment of objects over the years every time Mary did laundry. It seemed that the bib, like always, was the hiding place for the drawing, but she didn't immediately slip it out.

"It's not for you…" she mumbled shyly, for the first time sounding a little more like herself and less robotic. "It's for Marshall. But, he won't want it if I can't even spell."

The female inspector was about to nudge her partner, to urge him to say something to contradict him, but it was moot. He was already there, a plethora of reassurances that became more and more believable the longer he spoke.

"I'll let you in on a little secret…" he began, and mention of something mysterious made Missy glance up, curious against her will. "I know someone else who can't spell very well, and it seems I married her anyway."

The structure of this phrase was careful; he didn't want to appear to have regained any portion of his wedded existence, but he had made a good assumption. Mary actually could spell decently enough; she just didn't take the time to check and allowed the proofreading options on the computer to do the work for her. She grinned sheepishly at Melissa, and she could tell that the little girl had become interested in a heartbeat.

"One time…we had to send in a report to our _big_ bosses out in DC – the head honchos, if you will…"

"Bigger even than Stan? More important than him?" Missy blurted out, warming to the story.

"Hard to believe…" Marshall held up a scholarly, pointed finger. "But, yes. _Government_ officials. Very high-brow, very uptight, _very_ rigid…"

"That means they don't like to do anything exciting!" she just couldn't help herself, and Marshall threw her an awed grin.

"I thought you might know what that meant," he proclaimed. "And, as I say, this report was _quite_ extensive. _Exhaustive_, really…"

The way he kept placing italics on specific words was sucking Melissa in like a vacuum. It was incredible how gunning too hard when it wasn't necessary could lead to disastrous results. And yet, when you knew exactly which buttons to push, you could rev up as high as you wanted, without it ever appearing as though you were pushing the envelope. How did Marshall know what to do? It must've been instinct, ingrained in his very skin, even if he couldn't remember a damn thing.

"And…it had, shall we say, a _minor_ typo," he went on, with the air that suggested it wasn't minor at all. "Where your mom should've written, 'We _popped_ the hood to see if there was anything wrong with the engine' she wrote…" Here, he paused, and then addressed Melissa, "Can you guess?"

"What? What?"

"Well…if you're a real speller, why don't you tell me if you can figure it out? Get rid of one of those middle 'p's' in 'popped,' add another 'o' and what do you have?"

It took Melissa only a moment, Jinx beaming proudly in the background, Mary just waiting to be squealed on, when her child burst out with an ultrasonic shriek, clapping her hands over her mouth and laughing herself to pieces. She might be the most mature eight-year-old in town, but she _was_ still an eight-year-old, and it was plain she could be as childish as the next second-grader.

"_Pooped?"_

"Scout's honor!" Marshall made the symbol across his chest.

"Mom, did you really _write_ that?"

"Guilty, girly. Stan gave me hell for that one – the big wigs in DC were not amused."

Missy didn't even find time to chastise her for using a 'bad word' which was something she was quite the stickler about. She was too wrapped up in Marshall, who seemed to have sailed flawlessly back into life at home. Mary knew better than to think it would be so easy, but at least they were off on the right foot, which was more than she had dared hope for yesterday.

"How long ago did she do that?" Melissa was still sniggering, but managed to eke out a question. "Was it a long-long time ago…?"

"Ah, well…it was awhile back…" he forfeited with a hint of a grimace, because he didn't want to give her any false notions about his memory. "Before you were around. But, the typos didn't stop there; I can promise you that."

"What'd they do to you, mom?" her daughter posed. "Did you get in big trouble?"

"Well…sort of…" Mary hunched her shoulders, not wanting to intercept the moment. "It's not like they couldn't read between the lines, but Stan gave me a talking-to about not sending my reports hot-off-the-press…"

"That would be a hysterical sentence," Missy wasn't usually much of a show off, but Mary could tell she wanted to brag, even just a little, with her use of vernacular by tossing aside the word 'funny.' "You 'pooped' the hood?"

"Well, that'll 'learn' you something, Melissa…" Marshall spoke up, slicing through her everlasting giggles. "Always reread everything you write."

"Not 'learn!'" she corrected him merrily, proving that she knew he was teasing. "It's 'teach.' 'Teach you something!' Learn doesn't make sense!"

"What was I thinking?"

Tongue poking through her teeth now, her smile almost identical to Marshall's, Mary knew that she couldn't hardly have asked for anything better, even if her husband's introductory tidbit came at her expense. She could sacrifice if it meant Melissa was happy, and it wasn't as if she embarrassed easily.

"So…now that we've all established I'm a careless speller…" the female held up her hands in defeat, smirking to show there had been no harm done. "Are you going to show Marshall that drawing or not?" she wagged a finger at the pocket of Melissa's overalls, wanting to see the sketch that had prompted all the bathroom-related humor.

Apparently, the little girl didn't need telling twice now that all the awkwardness was out of the way. She reached into the bib pouch and pulled out a white piece of paper, folded twice, once down the middle and then another time so that it made a small rectangle. Before handing it over to her step-father, she opened it up so that he wouldn't have to, and didn't surrender it without a precursor.

"I tried to write 'welcome' but I forgot it only has one 'L' and I had to cross one out, so it doesn't look as nice…"

Making sure he was secure on his crutches, Marshall extended his own hand and waited for Missy to pass the page into his fingers. Once he had hold of it, the child going red and looking bashful, Mary inched herself closer to her partner to see what the picture contained. When she did, she felt her heart go soft – so soft, in fact, that it might dissolve into a puddle if she didn't toughen up. There was no reason a second grade drawing should evoke so much emotion, but she'd become a slave to her feelings this week.

Depicted on the page were three figures, each as recognizable as the one next to it. One was Mary, scrubbed in with yellow hair, jeans, and a black shirt. Beside her was unmistakably Melissa herself, drawn in overalls just like the real version, her glasses almost as big as her entire head. And sandwiching them together was Marshall – no cast on his leg, no tape on his ankle, standing taller than Mary just as he really was; jeans, cowboy boots, blue shirt, and all.

And yet, it was the portrayals above that made a knot form in Mary's throat. Above the three stick figures, Missy had drawn an enormous cloud stemming from the three heads. Inside it there were tiny illustrations of anything under the sun – a dollhouse, a dinosaur model, a planet that looked like Saturn, a rocket ship, a lion, leafy green trees, marigolds like those beside the front porch, feather boas, Barbie dolls, pencils, pens, books, and on and on and on. How she'd managed to fit them all in the space was remarkable, let alone the fact that they were distinctive enough that Mary could tell what they were.

And, crammed in above the bubble were the words:

"_WEL__L__COME HOME MARSHALL. LOVE, MELISSA JEAN SHANNON"_

Perhaps she thought they wouldn't understand the drawing, or else was thrown by the quiet, contemplative looks on their faces. Either way, she broke in before either Mary or Marshall had a chance to say anything.

"It's you and me and mom…and you're thinking about all the things that we do together…"

In other words, his memories.

"I couldn't quite get everything on there, but I tried to remember all the important stuff."

Remember.

"And, then I felt kind of bad because I should've put Stan and Mark and Jinx and Brandi and Peter and Eleanor on there too, because we like to hang out with them, but then I decided that you remember them and I'd just put things that you might have forgotten – to help you remember."

She had to pause to take a breath in a spectacular run-on, having had no one to contradict her justifications, but it seemed she wanted to reach what she considered the most essential portion.

"Do you like it?"

For the first time, Mary made herself look into Marshall's face, for she had been staring at the sketch for several minutes, eyes boring into the streaks of crayon, the pencil marks blurred underneath, the faint smell of wax wafting up from the paper. When she noticed her husband's features, she felt a sudden foreboding, because he looked like he was about to cry. Melissa knew he could be very sensitive, that he wasn't afraid to show his fears or express himself when he came across something heartfelt. But, the mother was fairly certain she had never seen him cry, and now probably wasn't the time to start.

Indeed, the little girl's fervent grin faltered a little when it took him a moment to reply, but when he did it was in an oddly calm, solid voice that was completely at odds with the look on his face. Even so, his courage and dignity was to be admired; he did not come apart in front of his would-be-daughter.

"I think…it is beautiful…" he gave a hard swallow, but when he tore his eyes away from the drawing he looked peaceful, completely unruffled. "So much lovely detail. I can't promise this will help me…" he was nothing if not honest, and Mary was glad that Melissa seemed to understand, at least for the moment. "But…I can't wait to hear about everything on here…and to dive right in with you." And then, just to break some of the tension, "Those dress-up shawls especially."

"Those are boas," she informed him sweetly. "I have a green, a yellow, and a pink. Mark gave them to me for my fifth birthday."

"Well, save the pink one for me, won't you?"

He might not be able to tow out the recollections, but he was trying to make up for it. He was trying so hard, and even Missy could appreciate that.

"Sure," she whispered in response to his request.

"You know…" Marshall heaved a sigh, a sigh so large it might be fake. "I've been here all of ten minutes, and I haven't had a hug yet."

The minute Missy saw him hand the picture over to Mary so his arms could be free; she took a step forward, waiting patiently for the man to pitch his crutches onto the couch, not going to let anything hamper their embrace. Mary was astonished, if not a little panicky, to see him standing so openly with nothing to grab onto, and she assumed he was going to take a seat on the arm of the sofa, perhaps so Melissa could climb onto his lap, or else grant him with a side-hug on her level.

Once he appeared ready for action, the child got as close as she could, clearly cautious about hurting him or tipping him over. And yet, Marshall did not sit down, nor did he attempt to stoop, though how he would've done with his broken leg, Mary had no idea. Instead, Missy got more than she bargained for when he swept one strong arm across her belly and flipped her clean upside-down, producing a high-pitched squeal of mirthless, wondrous delight.

"Marshall, don't!" the little one screeched, but it couldn't have been plainer that she was exhilarated. "I'll lose my glasses!"

"You mean this isn't what you were expecting?" he quipped briskly. "How about this…?"

Judging by the second cry that rent the air, he had squeezed his nails into her belly, tickling her without mercy, raucous giggles erupting from halfway off the ground.

"Don't-don't-don't!"

"But, see how funny you think it is; why should I stop?"

"Hys…ter…i…cal…!" she corrected between gasps, her face turning beet red from being upside-down.

"Of course, hysterical. Uproarious, even."

Mary was aching fit to burst to tell Marshall to put her down, worried he would buckle under her weight – minimal though it was – but kept her mouth firmly closed. It might be worth the risk; so many things were, if only you were willing to take the plunge. And, seeing Melissa flail around like a cat with its claws out, screaming her head off just as she'd done on that fifth birthday mentioned not so long ago, she knew that leaving some things to chance had to be part of the adventure.

"Let me go, Marshall! I'll fall!"

"Ah, I wouldn't let that happen…"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

XXX

**A/N: Whether he's through feeling awkward or not, at least Marshall puts on a good show! ;)**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: Thank-you again to everyone hanging with me! I say that a lot, but it's true! **

XXX

Mary couldn't remember a time when her house had been so full. Traditionally, she wasn't one to entertain and, oddly enough, the last occasion when she'd had so many people over was probably the day Marshall had been in the accident, exactly a week earlier. Stan, Mark, and Brandi, not to mention Marshall himself, had all occupied the confines that day. But, because this didn't exactly bring up fond memories, Mary tried to disregard the similarities. In any case, there were certainly more individuals around now than there had been the previous Wednesday.

Stan sat in one of the two armchairs, fiddling with his tie while Eleanor sat on the floor at his feet, re-creasing the lines on his slacks every few minutes. He had attempted to be courteous upon arrival, insisting that she take the seat and he the ground, but the woman had refused. And so, he continued to look red-faced and continually glanced down at his companion, as if to make sure she wasn't doing anything indecent where he couldn't see.

Mary and Marshall were their mirror images on the opposite end of the coffee table, only Marshall garnered the chair by default due to his leg. His wife didn't mind the floor anymore than Eleanor did, and distinctly felt her husband tousle a few strands of her hair now and then from above, although it was always quick and often discreet as well. All the woman could really spot from her space were table legs and people's feet, the conversation seemingly taking place in a world far-far above her. Part of her liked it that way, liked having the babble of voices wash over her, each one familiar, each timbre reminding her of someone she loved.

Peter, Brandi, and Mark occupied the sofa, the married couple nudged close to one another, the pregnant one's feet propped on the coffee table and in danger of knocking plates of food over. Mary had the distinct impression that Brandi wanted to get up and move around a little more, but that Peter was keeping her sheltered and seated so that she would not 'overdo' it. Their miniature excursion to the hospital had shaken him, and it was odd seeing Brandi as the one in control. A dim inner light seemed to shine from her rounded moon face, growing more bulbous by the day. She was ready to pop, but nary a complaint came out her mouth. She seemed as glad as Mary was to be in the company of so many wonderful people.

The space that might typically reside between the expectant duo and Mark on the other side of the couch was filled by Melissa, curled up next to Brandi with her head in the crook of her arm. The aunt had seemed a little bewildered by such affection at first, but she didn't know about Mary's proposal that her daughter watch over her at the first available opportunity. It seemed Marshall's return had surged new life into her, if only for a night and, in any case, the older Shannon couldn't deny she was glad not to have to facilitate any bonds between Missy and her legion of men. It was better that she stuck close to Brandi, a safe harbor of sorts from whatever reservations the little girl was having about Mark or anyone else.

Jinx was the only one who never seemed to sit down, bustling about refilling drinks and plates like a waitress. Each time someone told her to take a load off; she would flutter her hands and insist she didn't mind in the least. And, Mary had to admit that it was nice to have her in such a capacity; it made the evening more relaxing for Marshall when he didn't have to concern himself with asking various guests to do things for him. There had been a few awkward moments early on where he had displayed that he didn't know where anything was kept – looking in the glass-cupboard for a bowl, peeking into the pantry in search of a plate. Eventually, his mother-in-law took pity on him and fetched whatever he needed.

Thus far, it had been an unusually pleasant evening – one of the least stressful Mary had-had in sometime, although nagging thoughts would still creep in from time-to-time. She would glance out the front window and see the spot where Marshall had been hit, or would feel claustrophobic with so many bodies milling around. All in all, however, she thought they'd gotten their new-old life started off with a bang.

In the midst of munching their pizza and clanking their cups, the talk turned to children, as it so often did when one was set to enter into the family sooner rather than later. Peter seemed a little wary of the subject, nervous-dad-to-be that he was, but Brandi soaked it up. She had forever loved being the center of attention.

"How many do you think you're going to end up with when all is said and done?" Mark put forward, for only he would be intrepid enough to ask such a question. "Three? Four? Five?"

"He's not making any offers to help in that department, just in case you were worried, Peter," Mary declared severely, and she heard Marshall laugh above her. When Mark tried to look innocent, she went on, "Oh, come on. Seriously, you sound like you're suggesting that _you_ could step in and do the job. She has a husband…"

"I am taken, Mark; sorry to disappoint…" Brandi fluttered her lashes girlishly.

"It's a perfectly valid question!" he was on the defensive, but still looking wily. "Not that family-planning _always_ goes according to plan, but…"

"How about I just get _this_ one here…" Brandi jutted a finger at her protruding belly. "And worry about the rest later. First things first."

"Yeah, you don't think you're jumping the gun just a little?" Stan chimed in, his words directed at Mark. "Although, I can't pretend I didn't let those child-bearing years slip away…"

"That's a mental picture that will be hard to get rid of," Mary acknowledged. "Think you could rephrase that, Stan? You know, so I don't have nightmares about you sporting a paunch that isn't just from drinking too much beer?"

This made everyone chuckle, including Melissa, who seemed to glean enough of the joke to be able to laugh with the rest. Stan's already rosy face turned still rosier at everyone mocking him and he took another sip of his drink to pass the time. Mary distinctly saw Eleanor pat his leg in sympathy and also noticed that she wasn't chortling, but smiling softly instead.

"All right, I stand corrected, inspector…" the man finally edged a guard up once some of the laughter died away. "But, you know what I mean. That time gets away from you; I'm not saying I even wanted to have kids, but…" He suddenly seemed to realize that he was perhaps sharing a little too much information and didn't finish his thought, but started a new one. "…Anyway, I don't have to worry anymore. I have my captain to make me feel young…"

Here, he saluted Missy from across the room, who put a hand to her forehead and signaled right back.

"Aye-aye!" she roared appreciatively, and Mary was glad to see her boss exercise a more natural smile upon seeing the little girl's display.

Perhaps to take some of the heat off the bald man, Eleanor pulled up a figurative chair, twirling her finger around the rim of her glass and speaking more to it than to the room at large.

"Well, it isn't as if I'm a spring chicken either…"

"Mmm…I don't know…" Mary put on a face of mock-thought, tapping her chin with her finger. "When you stay in the office stapling and filing all day instead of being out in the action, I say that qualifies you as a chicken one way or another…"

Fortunately, Eleanor knew her co-worker was only kidding, and settled for shooting her a dirty look, but with a hint of a grin, and Mary returned the serve with a smirk of her own.

"Once again you show your woeful ineptitude, Mary…" the older woman wasn't going to let her get away with an insult. "Do I have to define 'spring' chicken versus…well, chicken?"

"No, you don't have to _define_ it…"

"Well, why don't we let Melissa make the call?" Marshall spoke for the first time in several minutes, knowing from personal experience that to allow his partner and office manager to get _too_ contentious wouldn't end well for anyone. "Tell me, oh wise one…" Mary craned her neck upward to see him bow his head slightly. "What is a 'spring' chicken?"

"Um…" the child giggled, looking marginally self-conscious with so many eyes on her, and Mary had to wonder if she would be embarrassed if she showed that she was clueless when it came to such an expression. "Spring…like…the season, right?"

"You could say that," Marshall offered. "But, it is slightly more metaphorical, so…"

Brandi to the rescue with a furtive whisper in her niece's ear, "It's okay if you don't know, honey. He's just playing around…"

Missy likely knew this already, but before she could make another guess, Eleanor put an end to the discussion, defaming herself just to get the job done.

"It means I'm an old lady, Melissa," she gave in, throwing up her hands and looking sheepish. "Old, and getting older…"

"Not just hatched out of your egg, so to speak," Marshall mulled over to tie the two together.

"Something like that," Eleanor admitted. "You happy, Mary?"

"Very."

She raised her glass in a toast, perhaps to Eleanor's matronly qualities that she had been the one to recognize, but before the other woman could even think about doing the same, Melissa cut in now that she understood all the terminology. It didn't take much to get her on board, and she was prospering under having so many people she adored in one room. It hardly mattered that Marshall was among them, but Mary didn't miss the way she repeatedly turned her head to face him, as if to make sure he hadn't gone anywhere.

"I don't think you're old, Eleanor!" it was a true mark of her happiness that the eight-year-old was back to showering her companions with compliments.

"Well, thank-you, sweetheart, but…"

"Jinx is older!"

From the kitchen, the grandmother proved that even though she was loading the dishwasher that she could still hear everything going on.

"Don't remind me, Missy!" with a flighty cackle.

"Here's a valuable life lesson Missy Jean…" Mark leaned over on the cushions to murmur in her ear. "Don't bring up a woman's age if you know what's good for you."

"It's not like it's not true!" she remained unabashed and barreled onward and upward. "Jinx _is_ older – she's a _grandmother_! You _have_ to be older to be that!"

"Most of the time…" Stan would allow her that.

"But that doesn't mean she's _old_…and Eleanor's not either…" how Melissa categorized 'old' was still up for grabs; perhaps she pictured nursing homes and white hair and oxygen tanks, none of which belonged to Jinx or Eleanor. "You couldn't date Stan if you were _really_ old!"

Now, where she'd come up with this equation, Mary had not a clue, because certainly eighty year olds had been known to find love again, but that didn't mean her daughter had ever witnessed such a thing. Her skewed references weren't really the issue at hand, though. Stan, who had been uncomfortable for several minutes already, suddenly blushed scarlet, his face resembling that of a ripe tomato. It was one thing to be called out on his personal life when it was just a few of them, but to have it publicized to a room full of people was taking it too far.

But, the chief managed to regain a portion of his composure, grinned half-heartedly, and said, "I still don't know what makes you think there's anything romantic going on here…"

And yet, he was about to be caught with his nose in the cookie jar.

"You're holding hands!"

And, when Mary followed the point of her child's finger to the figures of Stan and Eleanor huddled together, she saw that she was right. For his part, the man tried to yank his fingers free before too many people could spot them, but it was too late. Nervous, uncertain laughter rippled around the circle, and Mary knew that, for as amused as she was, it wasn't fair to humiliate her colleagues like they were standing under a spotlight in their underwear. She took pity on both of them, and went into 'mom' mode.

"All right, Melissa…enough…" she even arched onto her knees to make sure her daughter could see her face, could see that the joshing needed to come to an end. "If Stan doesn't want to talk about it, that's his business, all right?"

"But, it's not like it's even a secret anymore…"

"Did you hear?" the blonde kept her voice still, not strict because there was no sense making a scene, but she wanted Missy to take her seriously. "Drop it."

Luckily for everyone involved, Brandi got with the program and, having been made aware that her niece was something close to her personal shopper until she had the baby, found something for her to do, cutting Stan and Eleanor a break.

"Listen…my Thumbelina…" she stuck a finger in the little girl's belly, producing a giggle that made her sound like the Pillsbury Doughboy. "I am out of water. Would you mind asking Jinx to get me another one?" jiggling her empty glass as evidence.

Melissa sighed, maybe because she knew she was being dismissed, but obeyed, "Okay…"

And she clambered down off the sofa, weaving amongst the outstretched legs on the floor, left with a pat on her rear end when she passed Mary. Once the sound of her footsteps died as much as they were going to and she was sure that her mother had occupied the inquisitive little girl, Mary got back to the adult matters, concealed as they could sometimes be.

"Sorry about that…" she nodded at her boss and his significant other. "I don't think she's trying to be nosy, but still…"

"Nah, its okay…" Stan promised with half-a-glance at his woman. "I suppose there's something to be said for just having out with it, but we're the quiet types…" eyes flickering fully down to Eleanor, as if to get her input. "Would hate to be foolish and rush things…"

Eleanor only bobbed her head, which signified agreement, but secretly Mary thought it was probably her, and not Stan, that wanted to keep things under wraps. She was the widow, after all, the one who might feel she was betraying her late husband if she moved on, even though it had now been ten years since he'd died. This was a difficulty that, once upon a time, Mary had never been able to reconcile, and now she fully understood the challenge. If Marshall had died, she couldn't fathom picking up the pieces and starting over with someone new – not after one year, not after ten.

"There's something to be said for 'slow,'" her fellow inspector seemed to be in concurrence with Stan's sentiment, and Mary rotated her head to look at him, towering above her like the giant he sometimes seemed to be. "Not for keeping your options open, but for making sure you savor the moments, so to speak. I'd say Mary and I know a thing or two about that…" even without his memories, he could still do the math. "How long did it take us to become one, huh? Eight…nine years?"

The woman chuckled, "Something like that."

"Well then, by all means…" Marshall spread his arms wide, perhaps indicating all the future days that lay ahead. "Fast, slow, big, small…write your story however you see fit. You want to be able to stand to read it again and again when you are – as Melissa would say – _old_."

Brandi and Peter seemed not to know what to say to such an audacious pronouncement and nor, indeed, did Mark. But, Mary and Stan, who had known Marshall longer and better than anyone else in the vicinity, had to be comforted by his wordy declarations, and it was the older man who voiced why.

"See, now…that right there…" he shifted in his chair, eyes on his male inspector, twinkling fondly like that of a father. "All the philosophy-professor-talk. That's how I know you're on the mend."

"You mean when you can't understand anything he says because he's too caught up in allegories and hyperbole and whatever else…" Mary harmonized, thinking fondly of all their days at the office when Marshall got ahead of himself rhapsodizing about anything from porcelain to ballpoint pens to the paper used in the fax machine. "When you launch into the grammar lessons, you've lost me, doofus."

"I'll second that," Brandi raised a hand, which gave her an excuse to detach herself from Peter's boa-constrictor hold. "Hyperbole? How do you even _spell_ that?"

"You'll have to ask Melissa on that one," Marshall decided, no doubt remembering their conversation from earlier. "But, I do not believe I was even using hyperbole – most commonly defined as an exaggeration…"

Mary gave a great scoff, in danger of blowing spit because she had been so emphatic. The noise caused Marshall to look down at her for the first time, and she was as captivated as she had ever been by his sparkling, oceanic cobalt orbs. Right now, they were as she loved them most – boyish, lifelike, innocent as a six-year-old who had found an entirely new way to look at the world. And, his wife supposed, that was exactly where he had landed – unknown territory with only a few trusted friends to show him the way.

And yet, it was elevating to know that even when his head wasn't entirely on straight that he was still Marshall deep in his heart, just as Melissa had claimed when she'd first learned amnesia had come into play.

"What was that supposed to mean?" he eventually inquired deceitfully, just as impishly as he had in the days before the accident.

"What was _what_ supposed to mean?" Mary shot back.

"That juvenile sound just emitted from your gullet."

"Don't say 'gullet.'"

"Well, then?"

"It was my way of saying _without_ saying that anything that comes out of your mouth pretty much characterizes 'exaggeration' or 'hyperbole' or whatever the hell…"

"Well, we all know you don't have any eloquence problems…"

"That rom-com speech you just gave Stan is no exception," Mary spoke over him, dying to have the last word, just as she had so many times before, both before and after their married existence. "Can't you just say, 'live your own life' and have done with it?"

"I could," Marshall bobbed his head, as though giving it serious thought, but the blonde knew he wasn't, not for a minute. "But, sparring with you about it a lot more fun."

"I can show you fun, Poindexter…"

And, not nearly as inhibited as Stan or Eleanor about showing her devotion for the person she loved, she inclined off her knees and leaned, hunchbacked, to kiss the man who so adored yanking her chain. Behind her, she heard Brandi make a noise that sounded like, 'woo-woo!' but she didn't care. There had been a time not so long ago when she'd believed her husband was poised to go back to being her partner, if that. And, while they'd had almost ten rough-and-ready years of partnership, she could never return to the past now that she knew what waited on the other side.

It was possible she'd thrown Marshall for a loop when she'd planted one on him, because he didn't immediately kiss her back, but he did squeeze her neck lightly, and that was enough for now.

"See, now, why should I have been lamenting the fact that I never had kids of my own?" Stan deliberated once the couple glided apart. "Keeping an eye on you two is a full time job."

Throwing Marshall a semi-naughty glance, Mary decided she would leave him with the smooch and the look alone, standing up and collecting her plate as well as his, off to the kitchen.

"You mean you haven't figured that out by now?" her question was for Stan, but her eyes were for Marshall, and she was pleased to see him looking slightly dazed, but glad all the same. On a more neutral topic, she queried to Marshall, "Can I get you anything else while I'm up? Jinx picked up a pie from the bakery – key lime."

"I think I'm good," he replied. "Thanks, though."

And leaving the remaining five individuals to talk amongst themselves, Mary stepped over his long legs and made her way to her destination. She could already hear Jinx banging pots and pans in the sink, scrubbing the few items that would not fit in the dishwasher. Melissa seemed to have occupied herself with the ice maker in the fridge, which shouldn't have surprised her mother in the least. She'd been told on many occasions that she could not use it because she was trigger-happy with the button and often sent cubes careening onto the floor. Apparently, she was using the opportunity she had while no one was watching.

"How long are you going to make Brandi wait for that water, sweets?" Mary snuck up behind her and poked a finger in her back. "She's probably parched by now."

"I just wanted to make sure she had enough ice – so it's really cold!" this was a plausible rationalization and Mary saw Jinx grin upon hearing it.

"Yeah, but you put in any more and there's not gonna be any room for the liquid," the inspector pointed out. "Fill it up and take it in there – hop to it."

At the instruction, Missy gave an exuberant bounce on the very tips of her toes, making her grandmother laugh over the running sink. Some of the water she had managed to get in the glass slopped over the sides when she made an ungraceful landing, but Mary shrugged it off, prepared to grab a towel when she had a chance.

"Be careful, girly," not without her usual reminders. "And, stop being so cute, why don't you?"

It seemed the child had nothing to say to this, because she simply grinned – so much for not being adorable – and raced back into the living room, taking a flying leap over Marshall's outstretched legs and back onto the couch beside her aunt. Mary watched the entire show with fondness, knowing it wasn't really Melissa's style to seek so much approval by showing off, but figuring she was making up for all the time she'd lost being miserable while Marshall had been in the hospital.

It seemed that the mother wasn't the only one observing the goings-on, because when Mary turned around she saw that Jinx had paused in honing her domestic skills to gaze as well. Not wanting the moment to become too sentimental, the younger tapped her arm, holding up the two dirty plates she had brought along.

"You have room for a few more?"

"Sure, honey…" she took them, silverware and all once she snapped back in, throwing them into the sudsy water with the rest. "Oh…angel…" Mary should've known this was coming, and decided she was in good enough spirits that she could wait it out. "It is so lovely to have Missy girl back to her old self; she is just lit up…"

"Yeah…" Mary breathed absentmindedly, now viewing Melissa nudging the glass into Brandi's waiting fingers, which earned her a kiss on the cheek from her bloated aunt. "It is…"

The way they were going, Jinx was never going to finish the dishes, but she turned off the water, drying her hands on a dishtowel, leaving all the flatware to soak momentarily.

"You know…" she sounded suggestive, prying. "It's awfully nice to see _you_ back to your old self too, darling."

"Well…" Mary wasn't game for speculating on how things would go in the days to come, and intended to make sure her mother knew it. "I don't want to get ahead of myself, mom. Count my chickens before they hatch…" there seemed to have been a lot of mention of 'chickens' on this Wednesday evening.

"I know, but can't you just enjoy the ride while you're on it?" Jinx was practically swooning, stepping close to her daughter with each passing second, but the blonde didn't want to be baited in such a way.

"Yeah, and 'while I'm on it' is the operative phrase," she targeted. "It could end at any time; I know it, and you know it…"

"I know no such thing," Jinx sounded affronted, but that was just Jinx; insulted even when she had no reason to be. "I know that Marshall is at home where he needs to be – with his wife and his child – and there is no reason he should feel the need to leave…"

"Until he decides this isn't the life he imagined," Mary projected. "Maybe it was before, but this is a whole new ballgame. I need to be patient with him; I need to make sure I don't send him screaming in the opposite direction…"

"Mary, honey," a placating arm landed on her shoulder, and the inspector fought shaking it away. "Not _everyone_ is going to disappoint you someday. I know your father made it very hard for you to trust people, but…"

"Can we not ruin this night by talking about dad?" Mary interrupted snappishly. "This has nothing to do with him. This me being realistic."

"You've been realistic your entire life, sweetheart," and, there was nothing untrue about this; peril was forever lurking in the shadows, and Mary was a woman who liked to be prepared. "You don't have to fight so hard. Marshall loves you; he always has."

This assertion stirred something in Mary, and she knew it was because she had said almost the exact same thing to Missy the night before. It was a handy, all-purpose, heavy-meaning expression designed as a fix-all, cure-all for all of life's doubts. But, Mary knew better than anyone that the words could be as empty as any other. She _had_ grown up with James Wily Shannon for a father and there was no denying that he had professed his adoration for her time and again, which had amounted to nothing in the end. Actions spoke louder than words and Mary, along with her daughter, needed more than a seven-letter-promise to make her feel secure.

But, because Jinx had always been an idealist and a dreamer and because she truly did not want to spoil an easygoing evening, she humored her mother with a warm smile, trying to show she was at least attempting to get on board.

"Well, I hope you're right, mom. And, if there was ever a time in my life that I _don't_ want to be realistic, it would be now."

XXX

**A/N: Calm before the storm? You'll soon see!**


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N: This chapter is a bit lengthy and I am not sure how well it will be received if you (hopefully,) get all the way through it!**

XXX

The following day, Mary tried to persuade Marshall about ten different ways to stay home and take it easy, but he wouldn't hear of it. She had to go to the Sunshine Building to catch up on still more paperwork, as not _everything_ could be entrusted to Stan and Eleanor, both of whom already had enough on their plates. Even though she reiterated over and over again that she would only be a few hours and back in time to share lunch with him, there was no convincing him to keep to himself for the morning. He wanted to go to the office too, and nothing his wife said made any difference.

And so, with many grumblings that he should be resting up, that he was going to develop a blood clot or lose consciousness, the two inspectors arrived at work close to hand-in-hand, if only because Marshall needed help getting on and off the elevator. He continually had to reassure Mary that he was not planning on doing anything extensive, merely that he wanted to see what lay ahead when he was feeling more up to the task – get his feet wet, as he put it. Even so, you couldn't put a price on the looks of surprise Stan and Eleanor displayed when they saw the two of them walking through the glass double doors, Mary swiping her badge to allow them admittance.

And yet, their looks of surprise might not entirely be accounted to Marshall's reappearance. In the split second before they spotted the pair of partners, they had been huddled at Eleanor's desk, Stan murmuring something in her ear. With the time Mary was afforded to watch, she saw that whatever her boss was saying seemed to be urgent, or else important to him. She caught a phrase that sounded like, "Life is too short," and another that resembled, "You know that better than anyone." And Eleanor, even from a distance, looked like she was having a hard time fighting his case, because there were a lot of head-bobbings and "I knows" to accompany his pleas.

However, Marshall's crutches were squeaky, not to mention clunky, and it didn't take long once he and Mary came in for the other two's heads to snap up, shoving their whispered discussion under the rug. Why they'd been so secretive when there was no one else around – until now – was anybody's guess.

But, Stan pasted on a smile, elbowing his way to the center of the floor, leaving Eleanor in the rearview. She looked less able to forget their discussion so quickly and Mary tried not to stare too hungrily and put her on the spot.

"Well…a two-fer!" the older man spread his arms out in front of him, striding over and looking from one inspector to the other. "I am a lucky man to be greeted by _both_ of my employees today – not that I think it's advisable for one of you to be here at all…" he sent Marshall a faux-threatening look, narrowing his dark brown eyes. "This is vacation time, inspector – recuperating should be done at home, not the office…"

"Yeah, you don't think I told him that?" Mary butted in. "It was like talking to a brick wall."

"Ah, you sound like my father," Stan reminisced. "That was a favorite expression of his."

"Do I _want_ to embody the Elder McQueen? Because, frankly, it's creepy enough channeling you some days…"

"Wait a few more years and _I'll_ be the Elder McQueen," the boss predicted dispiritedly, glancing down at his feet, which were rocking back and forth on the linoleum as usual. "DC will have to restrict my hours to make sure I don't fall and break a hip…"

"Didn't we just have this conversation?" the woman asked, remembering the night before. "You're as youthful as ever – even have the haircut to prove it; all you need is the peach fuzz on your lip," she indicated his shiny head, like that of an infant's, and his upper lip, which was as bare as ever.

Fortunately, Marshall got his two cents in at this point, "You know, it's like I don't even have to be here," he was reminding them that his return to his place of employment was supposed to be met with celebration; at the very least, nobody speaking over him. "Nice to see you've all missed me…"

"Oh, stop it…" Mary hit his arm lightly. "Such a drama queen. You could give Brandi a run for her money."

"That is being quite the prima donna, inspector," Stan agreed with a deceitful look, his age seemingly forgotten. "All the bells and whistles we gave you last night weren't enough?"

"All right, all right…I stand corrected," the injured party surrendered his proverbial flag. "I will just say that it's good to be back – back among the regular routine, back among friends…"

This likely meant Stan and Eleanor, both of whom smiled in his direction, Eleanor finally sidling over to join them, although she still hadn't said a word. Mary thought she looked glum or down in the dumps, and she couldn't understand what could've happened between now and the festivities the evening prior to turn her usually sunny disposition. It likely had something to do with Stan's sly undertone he'd been sporting when Mary and Marshall had walked in, but the blonde knew better than to bring that up here.

"Well, and we're glad to have you back…" Stan was rambling in the midst of Mary's thoughts; whatever had gone on with the office manager, he seemed to have put it behind him for the time being. "Just don't overdo it. I don't need DC coming after me because I let an already wounded inspector flex his muscles first day out of the hospital…"

"What's good for the goose is good for the gander," was Marshall's odd reply, and when Mary wrinkled her nose and frowned, he clarified. "I seem to remember _someone_ getting to start on a case the first day she was released from a doctor's care…"

He was, of course, talking about Mary's gung-ho attitude after she had been shot, when she hadn't listened to anyone and had jumped with both feet back into her Marshal duties. There hadn't been any stopping her, but that was who Mary was. It was something of a comfort to know that-that was a piece of Marshall as well, even if he had managed to wait a night before coming back, something his wife hadn't been able to hold out on.

"…But, not to worry, Stan…" Marshall concluded. "I do not have the objective of doing anything too strenuous – just wanted to get my ducks in a row for when I _am_ feeling more fit and trim."

"Well, I am glad to hear that," the chief said. "Everything should be where you left it last week, plus a few additions that have occurred with a couple of witnesses since you've been gone. Any questions – just holler…" He was about to head back to his office, or so it seemed, before he rephrased his offer of assistance. "Or…you don't have to ask me – you can always ask Eleanor. She's been really on top of things lately – don't know what I would've done without her."

Mary didn't find anything strange about this bit of praise, but she couldn't help raising her eyebrows when Stan walked past Eleanor and patted her shoulder to top off his accolade. It made Eleanor jump, but the man had disappeared into his office before she could say anything. Wildly, she looked over her shoulder, tucking a stray curl behind her ear, and then she seemed to remember there were other people around.

"I…if…if you need anything, Marshall…" she scrabbled to pick up the thread, to not appear as flustered as she so obviously was. "Let me know. Good to have you back…"

"Thank-you…"

But, the man's gratitude was drowned when Eleanor click-clacked away, back to her desk in the corner, where she buried her face in the files heaped on her desk.

Mary and Marshall exchanged looks, neither one with the courage to say what they were thinking. It seemed that Mary trying to narrate to Marshall that there was a 'thing' between their boss and the office manager was moot, because he could see the clunky proceedings right in front of him. Still, it was bizarre that something seemed to have shifted between them. Before now, they'd seemed perfectly happy keeping things on the down-low, not addressing what lay beneath, and now that the relationship was slowly surfacing it seemed Eleanor wanted to back off.

But, as none of this was work-related and romantic discussions were not exactly her forte, Mary merely left Marshall with a meaningful look and strode to her desk to boot up her computer and peruse her own folders. His jaunt to his desk was a little slower, but he got there in the end, and seemed relieved to be able to abandon his crutches when he sat in his chair.

From there, the morning progressed smoothly enough, everyone absorbed in their own documents, Marshall periodically calling someone over to check some fact or figure. Mary was simply glad her husband was taking things slowly, remaining true to his word and not pushing himself too hard. That seemed to be the theme for every area of life these days: don't push.

After an hour or so of relative quiet, however, Mary began to grow restless, as she didn't like to be in one place for too long and had always been attracted to wherever the action was. To feed her desire, she beckoned to Stan, who happened to be walking across the floor. She thought it was probably safe to chance what she was thinking, as Eleanor was occupied with Marshall at his desk and likely wouldn't pick up on anything she might say so long as she was mindful to keep her voice down.

"Hey, boss man…"

She made a noise that sounded like 'psst' when he was near enough to hear and he stopped, not before checking over his shoulder. When he was sure the coast was clear, he shuffled over to Mary's desk, leaning down far closer than he would've ordinarily done.

"What's up?" he whispered.

"I don't know…" she whispered back. "What's up with _you?_"

"I don't know what you…"

"Oh, save it, Stan…" a sneer. "You think Marshall and I can't tell you're all squiggly about something? You _suck_ at keeping secrets…"

"Then we really shouldn't be talking about this here, now should we?"

"What do you think is going to happen?" and Mary was genuinely curious when she asked this. "You think the old lady over there…" a jerk of her head in Eleanor's direction. "Is going to leave you in the dust if you start flaunting that you're spending more nights together than apart…?"

"Hey now, come on…!" this hiss was more burning, like he was just begging Mary to shut up, and she scooted her chair back, because he'd suddenly come even closer in his stress. Hands splayed on her desktop, "What happened to it being none of your business? Isn't that what you told Melissa yesterday?"

"You mean you bought that?"

Stan effectively ignored this, "And, don't call her an old lady – unless you want _me_ to start calling _you_ the same thing."

"I didn't mean it like that…" and this was perfectly true, although Mary could see where he might've gotten his wires crossed. "I meant 'old lady' like…partner, like significant other, like…spouse, you know? I'm Marshall's old lady, if you want to get technical…"

"I still don't think it's very flattering."

This made Mary take pause, because there was definitely a running argument going on here. She wouldn't be being honest if she said she had never teased Stan about being older – she had for as long as she could remember. But, he had never seemed to take offense before, nor did it really seem to bother him. Now, it was like he couldn't get it off his mind, like something had clicked that told him he wasn't a kid anymore and if there was a time to do something, it was now, because he wasn't getting any younger.

Luckily, the man took the moment of silence to back up a little, exhaling and running an agitated hand over his bald pate, shiny under the fluorescent lights. He might've thought he had quieted Mary, but he was wrong, although what she planned to say next didn't have 'joke' written all over it.

"Stan…" she hummed, putting down her pencil to face him more fully. "You don't _really_ think you're old, do you? I mean, you're only…what…?" She didn't know for sure, but she could estimate, "Six or seven years older than Marshall? That's not much…"

"Maybe not to you, but…"

"Why the sudden fixation?" she cut his blustering in two. "What's got you hung up on this? In spite of what my kid thinks, marriage doesn't become obsolete after fifty…"

"Marriage?!" he squawked, but then hurried to tone it down, because his volume had attracted Eleanor. "Who said anything about marriage?" a more hushed voice.

"Well, nobody, but I figure if you're dating and you're into the person then marriage might be discussed…"

"Eleanor and I are not dating."

By saying it aloud, he had pretty much certified that they were, not that Mary particularly needed the confirmation. Instead, she bored into him with her best exasperated stare, showing that he wasn't fooling anybody, lips pursed and ready to do battle. But, he weakened quickly, sighing for a second time, probably because he'd realized how defensive he sounded and how no one in their neighborhood would buy there wasn't anything going on between him and his colleague.

"All right…" he murmured, stepping up once again so he stood above Mary, appearing taller than he really was because she was sitting down. "Maybe…maybe we are…"

"Well, alert the presses."

"But, it's not as simple as all that…" he illuminated, wanting to make his conflictions perfectly clear. "This is a widow we're talking about; it's a very sensitive matter…"

"But, Stan…" Mary didn't want to discount Eleanor's pain, but there was betrayal and then there was out-and-out fear, and she had to wonder if it was really the latter that the other woman was experiencing. "I think you've been gentlemanly enough; John has been gone awhile. If you want more from her, then just say so…"

"I've been _trying_ to say so," he divulged, looking guilty the minute he said it. "But, it's delicate. Unfortunately…neither one of us are 'spring chickens…'" there was that phrase again; Mary had to smirk. "…I don't want to waste anymore time skulking around, not when you can't know how much time you have left. But, if she won't commit…"

It was probably a good thing that Mary's cell phone started buzzing at this point because, for as much as she wanted to be a sounding board for Stan, she didn't need the personal details of he and Eleanor hitting the sheets – or staying fully clothed, as the case might be. The man himself looked like he thought he had been given a reprieve as well, the vibrating scaring him back another few steps.

"Hold that thought, huh?" the woman held up a finger, fishing through papers for her cell, and finally found it buried behind a stack of folders. Looking at the caller ID, "Don't think it's a witness; the name isn't coming up…"

Only a number stared back at her, again with a local area code, just like when Marshall had phoned from his hospital room. There was something familiar about it beyond that, however, like she had seen the digits before even though they weren't already programmed into her contacts.

"Is it someone you recognize, though?" Stan inquired, probably watching her face for signs of acknowledgment.

"I feel like I do…but, only one way to find out…"

When she eventually answered, Stan seized his moment in being able to slip away and meandered back to his office.

"This is Mary."

Even though she had greeted the caller, her mind was still with her boss and his relationship angst, try as she might to shut it away because she was no therapist. Watching Stan sit at his desk, the blinds on the window striping his depressed features, she knew that she wanted him and Eleanor to find a way to click on their own terms, even though she constantly gave them crap for skirting around. She revered the chief for trying so hard to be respectful of Eleanor's wishes, but there came a time when you had to think about what you wanted too. Both Mark and Marshall had taught her that, and she hoped Stan soon realized it as well.

But, she became so lost in thought that she didn't hear the young woman repeating her name on the other end of the phone.

"Mary? …Mrs. Shannon? …Mrs. Shannon?"

It took three tries before she finally registered, snapping out of it and returning to the person at hand.

"Yes…sorry…" the inspector stammered, taking her eyes off Stan, just to make a personal pledge that she would be more focused on the call. "I'm here."

"Mrs. Shannon…I'm sorry to bother you during the day, as I'm sure you're busy…" this sounded rehearsed, and Mary was about to ask what she was being bothered _with_, not to mention who was doing the bothering, when the speech commenced further. "This is Courtney Newman. Melissa's teacher."

While Mary didn't immediately feel the beginnings of dread upon hearing this, there was no denying that a call from an educator in the middle of the morning couldn't mean anything overly positive. Still, the blonde was able to comfort herself with the fact that Missy couldn't possibly be in trouble; she was so well-behaved, her current episodes at home notwithstanding. If she hadn't wanted Miss Newman to know of Marshall's troubles, it stood to reason that those outbursts hadn't carried over to school.

And so, with a swallow, she still requested the information that she knew was most pertinent.

"Is Melissa okay?"

"Yes, she's fine," at least there was that. "But, there was an incident involving her and another student in the class, and I wanted to brief you on what happened and assure you that proper action has been taken now that everything has blown over."

This was all so formal. Incident? Proper action? None of these were encouraging phrases.

"So…what…what's the deal…?" Mary made herself put forward, although at the moment she wasn't sure she really wanted to know.

Courtney seemed to take a very deep breath before continuing; the other woman could hear the static come through the speaker. Something told her that Miss Newman had gone over how to present this over and over again before picking up the phone, that she wanted to close all the gaps because dealing with testy parents had to be an ordeal. Mary certainly fell under that category on occasion, although more often with the principal than with Courtney.

She was squeezing the phone rather tightly as she waited, holding her tongue, not demanding that the teacher quit waffling and spill the beans.

"We have a morning recess at ten o'clock and about five minutes after we had been outside, I saw that Melissa did not have her glasses on…" the story was presented in a very unbiased way, no raised voices, but Mary could feel her ire spiking by the second. "I asked if she had left them inside and, if so, that she should go back in and get them because it's important that she can see…"

Damn straight, Mary thought. Although, she couldn't figure out why on earth Missy would've ever taken her glasses off and had the sinking feeling that wasn't the explanation she was about to get.

"…She didn't seem to want to tell me where she'd left them at first, but eventually she admitted that a classmate – Owen – had taken them and hidden them somewhere, but she didn't know where."

She couldn't help herself, "Why would he do that? Were they fighting, not getting along…?"

Mary didn't know this 'Owen' but her question was really her only ray of hope in this scenario. It would make more sense, perhaps be more justifiable, if Melissa had-had some sort of confrontation with her peer and he had retaliated by taking her glasses. It wouldn't be so blatantly mean, so viciously cruel, so obviously bullying as simply swiping them for the fun of it.

"I don't know for sure, Mrs. Shannon, but from speaking to Owen, it seems that he was giving Melissa a hard time."

That was code for picking on her – picking on her for no reason at all.

"It took me some time to get Melissa to tell me everything, but she said he was teasing her…"

"About what?"

"Something about how she has two dads…"

Three, Mary thought scornfully, but knew that wasn't the point.

"…And that his parents say the two gentlemen are a couple…"

A _gay_ couple? Marshall and Mark? Who were these parents – what did they know?

"…I-I don't have all the details, I'm afraid, but it didn't sit well with Melissa – understandably. When she tried to tell him otherwise, it seems he escalated the situation by taking her glasses and calling her names…"

Mary wanted to say more, wanted to collect every last facet of this torment that she could, but her mouth had gone dry. Did she want to know what this child had taunted her daughter with? Four-eyes, nerd, dork, pipsqueak? This all seemed fairly tame compared to what had already been said, and it took her too long to decide what she desired, because Miss Newman seemed eager to report what had happened next.

"Melissa was pretty upset when I finally got everything out of her – mostly about her glasses; she was afraid they'd get lost or broken and that she'd been in trouble, but we found them…"

Mary didn't even care about this; spectacles were replaceable. Her little girl's ego was much harder to repair.

"They seem to be undamaged, but she fell when she didn't have them on and scraped up her elbow; the nurse took care of her…"

The thought of her sweet, innocent daughter wandering around the playground blind with no one to help her, when her balance was already so poor, was too much for Mary to bear. She'd been restrained thus far, but now she couldn't help herself; all her anger and frustration surged forth, and she longed to race down to the elementary school and yank Melissa out of it, and to tell this Owen a thing or two as well.

"What is going to happen to this kid who is harassing my daughter?! Is he lying about what he did – pretending it was nothing?! Does he know what could've happened to her without her glasses – does he want me to come down there and show him what it's like to see in blurry shapes like Melissa does?!"

Courtney seemed to have expected the fury, perhaps didn't even blame her, but her sheer noise level attracted Eleanor and Marshall, who looked up from his desk across the room to stare.

"Mrs. Shannon, rest assured…I sent Owen to visit with Mrs. Hodges; his parents have been contacted as well…" this was not very soothing, not when Mary knew how Regina Hodges operated, but it was probably the best Courtney could do. "If you would like to set up a meeting with them or with me and Mrs. Hodges, I am perfectly open to that…"

"That's not what I…"

"I want to make it perfectly plain that this behavior is unacceptable; I have spoken with Owen at length; he did not deny what went on…" at least there weren't two stories to sort out. "He has apologized to Melissa…"

"An apology doesn't cut it!"

She heard Miss Newman gulp another time, "I understand how you would feel that way. I practice tolerance in my classroom, Mrs. Shannon, but I cannot pretend I haven't had difficulties. I am truly sorry that this happened to Melissa and am going to do whatever I can to prevent it occurring again in the future."

What more could she say? She could rant and rave for another ten minutes and it would make no difference. Despite the circumstances, she did believe Courtney was trying her best, but with no support from the administration it had to be a challenge. Not to mention, having parents that perpetuated bullying cycles didn't do wonders for trying to send a different message at school than the one that was being sent at home. Mary knew she could be rough on people, but she had always gone out of her way to make sure Missy behaved differently. Why couldn't others do the same?

Unsure where to go from here, she raked her fingers through her hair and decided that, for the moment, she was really too steamed to be trusted to have a rational discussion and opted to wrap things up instead.

"You said that Missy is okay?"

She'd called her 'Missy' again.

"Yes. Like I said, she was a little shaken up at first, but I spoke to her and she seems to be doing better."

"Are you sure I don't need to come and see her – bring her home?"

"That's up to you, Mrs. Shannon, but I think she'll be all right for the remainder of the day, and we can talk more at an available opportunity."

She probably had to get back to her students and couldn't spend all day on the phone and so, for as much as she hated it; she took the other woman's advice and decided she would leave her daughter where she was. They could have their own discussion when she arrived home that afternoon – by which point Mary would likely have plenty to say.

"All right…" the inspector breathed. "Thank-you for calling. I appreciate it."

She didn't appreciate any part of it, but it was all she could come up with to end it.

"Of course. Goodbye, Mrs. Shannon."

"Bye."

The teacher was lucky she got a farewell at all. The minute the connection had gone; Mary gave into her bubbling rage and threw her phone onto the desktop with an almighty bang, which alerted even Stan from halfway across the floor. She was so pissed she hardly felt coherent, her head spinning like a top, shaking from her fingers and toes. She didn't know who she wanted to strangle first – Owen, his nosy, interfering parents, the other kids who hadn't stepped in to help her daughter on the playground, or Regina Hodges, who would surely be of no support at all.

No one in the office could possibly miss how worked up she was and it was Marshall, standing stationary behind his desk, that asked the first question.

"What happened?" he was looking alarmed by her behavior, and Eleanor wasn't far behind. "What's wrong?"

By the time Mary could form distinguishable words, Stan had returned, stock-still in the middle of the room, waiting for the verdict. Mary still had the unquenchable urge to hurl something hard, but that would solve nothing. Instead, she settled for sweeping her hand over the mess on her desk, which knocked a cup of pencils to the floor, scattering them in six different directions.

"Some idiot kid _stole_ Melissa's glasses!"

Two reactions to this news were both predicable and consoling, steadying Mary's pounding heart.

"The hell they did!" Stan bellowed, bad-ass boss-slash-dad to the hilt.

"Oh, bless her heart…" Eleanor sighed, her eyes sad and mournful. "Why would someone do that?"

The wrath from Stan and the sympathy from Eleanor was exactly what Mary expected. It made her feel better, even though she was still dying to beat someone to a pulp. Marshall, however, had said nothing, but was still standing quite still. At first, this wasn't concerning; he rarely got angry and even when he did he maintained control as long as he could. She needed him to be steady and composed and he was doing just that.

"This goon is toting the company line – his parents have been filling his head with shit about blended families and he was on Melissa's case, he let her walk around blind for God knows how long before her teacher found her…"

"I hope she ratted him out," Stan interjected furiously.

"It took some doing," Mary snarled. "But, they sent him to the principal's office – for all the good that'll do…"

"Lack of acceptance for people who are different is just terrible…" Eleanor clucked, making her way back to her own desk and shaking her head. "Adults plant these ideas in their children's heads…"

"Why wouldn't someone help her?" the blonde exclaimed, but this time it was as though her strings had been cut, her voice breaking on the final word, ferocity soon to be replaced by tears. "In a playground full of people, not one person…" her eyes were already stinging as her vehemence evaporated. "…They know she can't see without her glasses; why wouldn't they…?"

Stan bustled over when she became emotional, and while he didn't touch her, he kept up the fighting spirit she longed to still possess, and that was the best gift he could've given her.

"Now-now, kiddo…she'll be all right…" he insisted. "She's a tough little girl, just too damn nice for her own good…"

"I am sick to death of this; she's not doing anything wrong…" saying it out loud made it even truer and the few droplets of moisture that fell seemed to sizzle on her cheeks. Furiously wiping the wetness away, she kept on, "She doesn't deserve it; I don't understand how there can't be a single kid who can stand the sight of her… 

"It's that mob mentality thing," Stan offered up, vacillating between grabbing a Kleenex for his inspector and ultimately deciding against it. "These are eight year olds; they see what's happening to her and don't want it to happen to them, so they go along with it even when they know it's wrong…"

"It's _disgusting_."

"What did Melissa say to the other kid?"

This inquisition came not from Stan, but from Marshall – the first words he'd spoken since he'd wanted to know what had happened. Mary glanced up, shaken from her temper by his participation, if that was what you wanted to call it. He was slowly gimping his way across the room, perhaps thinking he could be a more prominent voice if he were closer. While Mary had originally appreciated his level head, now she felt slightly off-kilter because of it. She was on the verge of having a complete meltdown and he was acting as if this were all some minor disagreement about who took the last basketball when the recess doors opened.

And what had he asked her? She hadn't even been paying attention.

"What?" she made him repeat it, dabbing at her eyes another time.

"I'm just curious what Melissa said when this boy started giving her what for – how she stood up for herself."

Something about this wasn't sitting well with Mary. She couldn't have said why, as Marshall's wonderings were suitable to the situation, and yet she sensed implications funneling underneath a perfectly innocent query. The need to defend herself reared its head, and yet her husband hadn't accused her of anything. Why did she get the feeling he was about to?

"What do you mean, 'stood up for herself?'" her efforts at keeping her voice even were in vain; she sounded as irritated as she really was.

Marshall didn't seem to grasp the glitch and shot Mary a quizzical look, "Isn't…that what you do when someone starts in on you?" but, he didn't seem very certain anymore. "It's what you would do," meaning Mary. "Surely I don't have to explain that to you."

The blonde didn't have the patience for this and went completely off the rails, "Are you _blaming_ her for what happened?"

"Of course I'm not," he looked shocked she'd even connected the dots in such a way. "This is an appalling thing for a child to do to another child, but should Melissa take it lying down?"

"What does _that_ mean?"

"There's nothing wrong with telling a bully to cut it out – I'm not saying it works, but it lets them know you don't intend to be intimidated…"

This was igniting Mary's already smoking fire more and more by the second, and Stan must've been able to see it on her face, because he looked nervous, doing a kind of quickstep between the two inspectors as if he couldn't decide whether he should stay or go. She knew Marshall's memory couldn't be counted upon to recall what types of things set her off, but Missy's weaknesses were probably the number one point. Since she'd been that tiny baby in the NICU, Mary had vowed she would protect her, look after her, and instill in anyone around her that it was their duty to do the same. She was little, she was delicate, and anyone who thought the solution was to put up her fists and fight was asking for her to be beaten up by the flagpole at three o'clock.

Narrowing her eyes so ruthlessly they were only slits, Mary stared at Marshall as if she'd never seen him before, rational thought having long since gone out the window.

"Are you for real?" her tone sounded dangerous even to her. "Are you insane? Are you trying to get her killed?"

"Mary, come on, now…" Stan didn't like where this was headed, but she could barely hear him.

"Do you have any idea how fragile she is?"

"I understand that, Mary, but…"

"Then understand _this_!" she jabbed a finger in his face; luckily he wasn't standing closely enough that she could put out his eye with it. "It is not her job to 'stand up for herself' when she didn't do anything wrong to begin with! This is a battle she should not have to fight! I have spent her entire life teaching her to watch her step, to go for help when she gets in over her head, and now you're telling me she should throw it all to hell just so she can look like some big shot on the playground?!"

"You know that's not what I…"

"Jesus, your brain _is_ addled!"

He looked stricken by this insult; hurt flashing through his befuddled blue eyes, and Stan obviously considered it a low blow indeed, because he remounted his horse and tried to catch her in the middle again.

"Mary, enough; don't be so spiteful…" he muttered out of the corner of his mouth, perhaps trying to block Marshall from his whispered guidance. When his employee continued to zone in on her husband, waiting for his reply, he continued. "You're upset; you don't want to say something you'll regret…"

"I want to know why he thinks Melissa should have to win her own war!" all the solider references were getting to be a bit much, but the man would understand what she meant. "Why she should have it rougher than everyone else!"

"I don't think that at all!" Marshall claimed now that he had the chance. "I never said that! Mary…" with some difficulty, he swung his crutches out to be nearer to the desk, but she crept away from him, sickened by his lack of understanding. "I don't think this is fair – it's not, and Melissa shouldn't have to deal with it. But, _since_ she does, what's the matter with teaching her to speak up when she's getting hit – literally or figuratively?"

"I've _told_ her to ask for help," now she was banging the desk, and was swathed in confusion because apparently her daughter had _not_ asked for help, not until Miss Newman had managed to pry every detail of the incident out of her. "That's what she knows; that is what will keep her safe!"

"But, are you practicing what you preach?" there was a distant groan from Stan when he heard that Marshall was still going to make his case. "That's not what you would do – you wouldn't wait for someone to come along and save you, you'd get in the perp's face before he could blink…"

"_I_ can take care of myself!"

"She can too – I'm sure she can; you just have to build up her confidence and show her how…"

"She doesn't need her confidence built up, you douche bag!"

Mary could not remember the last time she had been so impossibly livid with him. She was so used to him placating her six ways to Sunday, bowing to her will and her wishes, her need to know what was best for everyone involved. That didn't mean he didn't voice his opinion once in awhile, but he was always so careful about it, so cautious, and only did it when he thought Mary was ready to hear it. The way he was going about it now was alarming; it left her so wrong-footed that she didn't know which end was up.

Apparently, his lack of memory about how their marriage had always operated meant he no longer had any filter. He was going to say what he wanted, the hell with what Mary thought.

"Well, I think we all need an ego boost from time-to-time…" he sidetracked, but his wife wasn't sold in the least.

"She thinks _plenty_ well of herself – you know, like _I_ do, since I'm her _mother_…" what she hoped to accomplish by staking her claim, she wasn't sure, just that she wanted to hurt Marshall for puzzling her when she was already so angry. "And, _as_ her mother, I am not going to make her live the way that I did – stuck on her own with no one in her corner. She needs something, she gets it!"

"But…Mary, she is not you…" he was pleading now. "Taking a stand doesn't nullify needing help once in awhile – needing help _and_ getting it," an explanation. "You didn't have a choice; you were left with a little sister, a mother that sapped your resources and no father; Melissa doesn't have to live that way…"

"Shut up about my father!"

Mention of James did nothing for her wrath, now at its breaking point. She hollered so loudly it got Stan completely out of the mix and Marshall looked frightened, staring into the vortex forming in her green eyes, her rigid jaw, and all-but gnashing teeth as if she were a stranger. It was the way he'd looked at her when he'd first come to in the hospital, when he'd thought Abigail was still his girlfriend.

"Do not pretend like you know when you don't remember a Goddamn thing!"

And, kicking the leg of her desk so hard she rattled her computer screen, she snatched up her phone, tote, and keys, and stormed across the floor – out of the office, out of the building, away from a life that had just been turned upside-down. Just as she had known it would.

XXX

**A/N: The sunshine couldn't last! Here we go again! ;)**


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N: Impending turmoil ahead! ;)**

XXX

Mary could not safely say she had really gotten over Marshall's assertiveness by the time Melissa came home from school that afternoon, dropped off by Mark, who had to dash out to meet with a solar panel client. That was probably just as well, because he didn't need to see tempers flaring between the two inspectors; it was going to take all of Mary's strength not to bite Marshall's head off in front of her daughter.

They had spent most of the afternoon apart; Marshall had stayed at the office, presumably discussing his wife's sophomoric eruption with Stan and Eleanor. Mary had gotten a bite to eat – on her own, which had depressed her more than she cared to admit – and then had paid Brandi a visit at her and Peter's place. This was a lovely distraction from all that was going on, because her sister was stir crazy after one day of being housebound and wasted no time complaining. This gave her a foolproof excuse not to trouble her with her marital woes or Melissa's social struggles.

By the time both Mary and Marshall made it home, they were silent and, in Mary's case, stewing. She was torn between feeling guilty because her husband had-had to ask Stan for a ride home, and vindicated that she was inconveniencing him when he'd made her so mad. It was terrible, Mary knew it was terrible, especially since he'd only been out of the hospital one day, but she was sinful when incensed and it was better Marshall learn that now. If this was how their fresh start was beginning, maybe it was favorable that they get all the bad out of the way early.

The woman had half a mind to tell him to keep his mouth closed for when Missy came home, because the last thing she wanted was for him to plant ideas in her head, but abstained. If he knew what was good for him, he would know not to impart his wisdom. Every time Mary thought about the things he'd said, a knot formed in her stomach. She wasn't sure if it was because she so fiercely disagreed with him, that she believed in earnest that what was best for Melissa was to let others come to her aide. But, it could've been because deep down she knew he was right, that more would be gained in the end by teaching her to stick up for herself. Getting Mary to admit this out loud, however, would be no easy task.

When Melissa did show up, backpack on her skinny shoulders and waving goodbye to Mark from the stoop, Mary was at the island in the kitchen, brooding. Marshall had his feet up on the coffee table, his crutches leaning on the wall by the coat rack. Both looked up when they heard the door shut but, by the virtue of having two working legs, Mary was the one who reached the little girl first.

"Hi, sweets…"

Already, she sounded breathy and anxious, not unlike Jinx did when she was wringing her hands, which was a horrifying thought. But, she was already in the entryway before this was indexed in her brain, by which point she could forget about it.

Melissa glanced up at her mother, looking a little discomfited, working her mouth from side-to-side, almost as though she were studying the being above her. She knew what was coming; perhaps she had rehearsed what to say the entire ride home.

"Hi, mom," her greeting was the same as Mary's had been. Standing on tiptoe so she could see over the back of the couch, "Hi, Marshall."

"Afternoon, Melissa," he was still working on getting up, and so had little breath to spare.

But, the blonde was feeling twitchy, her ingrained instinct to do something tingling out of her pores. Immediately, she grabbed hold of the nearest opportunity, even if it was pointless and neither helped nor harmed anyone involved.

"Let me hang your backpack up, girly; give that to me…"

Melissa obeyed when Mary all-but yanked it off her shoulders, but seemed confounded by where she was putting it, which was on the bench that was built into the wall opposite the door. At first, the inspector didn't notice this, too intent on unzipping the bag to make sure there weren't any notes or additional information she needed regarding what had gone on that morning. It was only when she unearthed her head did she spot Missy staring at her with one eyebrow raised, Marshall hopping on one foot to his crutches propped against the wall.

"What?" Mary wanted to know.

"It goes in my room," Melissa whispered.

"Oh…" she exhaled, feeling stupid. "Yeah. You're right," items being in their proper place was important to her daughter. "Well, we'll make sure it gets back there. Can I have your jacket?"

Again, going through the motions because she was being asked to, Missy handed over the sweater she was wearing over the denim pair of overalls, which Mary hung on the rack with all the others. Marshall had recovered his crutches by the time they had finished and, likely because she didn't want to be interrogated, Melissa moseyed through the living room and was on a path to the kitchen, so Mary seized the moment once again.

"I made you a snack…" she boasted, scurrying past her daughter to the island where a plate and glass were already set out. "Cranberry juice and kiwi."

The thought made her gag, but Missy loved fruit and kiwi was one of her favorites – something she hadn't had in awhile. Mary was well aware she was smothering her; possibly pushing her further away with bribes and special treatment, but her zealousness was unable to be curtailed. She was just waiting for some sign of an approaching tantrum, when Melissa would burst into tears over what had gone on at school, at which point Mary would be allowed to comfort her.

"I love kiwi…" the little girl said as she lifted herself onto a stool, Mary sitting opposite. "I didn't know we had any."

"I picked some up this afternoon," her mother informed her. "And some oranges and pineapple too."

Missy smiled, "Yum."

And then it was quiet again. Apparently, discussion of food could only get them so far. In her agitation, Mary drummed her fingers on the countertop, knowing in the back of her mind that she should offer Marshall her seat, as he was just standing at the head of the island tiring his arms out on his crutches. It was apparent Missy wasn't going to initiate anything as far as her day at school had gone, but she could obviously tell that Mary was bursting to discuss it.

And, the minute this thought formed in her mind, the woman threw caution to the winds, probably startling her child so profusely that she was in danger of choking on her kiwi.

"Melissa, what happened to you today was horrible."

Mary regretted this the instant she said it and, judging by the skeptical look on Marshall's face, he was in agreement. It was so dramatic, so thespian, and it would only reinforce Missy's sense of upheaval if her mother believed she'd been in some kind of mortal peril. As it was, she had already halted, the fuzzy fruit hanging slack in her fingers, staring at Mary with big eyes. The inspector couldn't decide if she looked nervous, or ashamed. Neither prospect was appealing.

"What I meant…" the blonde tried to correct herself before anymore was said. "Is that it's wrong. What that boy…"

"Owen."

"Yes, Owen," Mary was just glad she was contributing, that she wasn't going to have to talk to thin air. "What Owen did to you is not right. You didn't deserve it – _nobody_ deserves it."

"Miss Newman already told me that."

"Well, good," that was something, at least. "She should have, and she talked to me on the phone…"

"I know."

"…And she told me that you were upset at first and that's totally okay…" she didn't want Melissa to think any show of emotion was unwarranted. "Do you want to tell me what Owen said to you?"

She was divided about asking, mostly because she didn't want to drudge up any lingering bad feelings for her daughter, but she was chomping at the bit to know what had gone on. Courtney certainly hadn't divulged everything, and she wanted the nitty-gritty details. What she would do with them once she had them was anybody's guess, but being armed with the whole truth and nothing but was better than being ignorant.

At being coerced to recount the story, Missy gave a tiny sigh and pushed her plate away, picking up her glass of cranberry juice and gulping down a few swallows. In the time while Mary was attempting to be patient, Marshall butted in.

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to…" Mary glared at him, wishing he would stay out of it, and she was pretty sure he saw her, but ignored her. "We can talk when you're ready. Or, if you would rather forget it…"

This was too much, "There is no 'forgetting it,'" Mary snapped, and Missy looked lost as to whether she was being reprimanded, or Marshall. "You don't forget something like this."

Her husband gave her a look that said, 'Not if you keep bringing it up' but she pretended she hadn't noticed.

"Melissa, this Owen tried to act like he was better than you, and he is _not_ better than you…" in the mother's mind, no child was, but certainly not _this_ child. "Do you mind telling me how he tried to put you down? I'm just…" There was no other word for it, and so she should probably be honest, "Curious."

The truth might've done it. Now with red rings around her lips from her juice, Missy stalled just a minute more to wipe her mouth with a napkin. Then, with a second sigh, she gave her mother what she so desperately craved.

"He said that his mom told him I live in a weird family – a family that isn't like his…"

Mary admired how calm she was being. Personally, her capillaries were about to explode.

"…That I have a mom and two dads, and that my two dads are in love with each other…"

She said this just as evenly as she had said the first sentence, while Mary continued to seethe. Not only did this PTO-parent have faulty information, she was probably homophobic on top of it.

"…He said that boys can't be in love with boys, so I told him Marshall and Mark are _not_ in love; they're just friends and that friends touch each other…"

Mary probably would've laughed if she hadn't been listening so hard. It seemed Missy had been spouting her mother's wisdom about relationships to the beasts of the playground.

"I said that Marshall _couldn't_ be in love with Mark anyway because he likes girls – and he's in love with _you_."

Here, she nodded at Mary. For so long, this had been the case; a perfectly valid argument for anyone who dared question Melissa's home life. It was obvious to all within minutes that there could be no talk of Missy growing up confused or mistreated when she had a mother and so many men on her side – and that one of those men was head-over-heels for Mary.

Now though, the woman had to wonder if the debate held any water. Since the accident, how could she know how Marshall felt?

"So…then he said…that he heard Marshall got hit by a car…" her steadiness faltered a little, no longer meeting Mary's eyes. "And that his brain is all messed up and he doesn't know who anybody is…"

Where did the gossip-hounds in town get this stuff? Mary knew word could travel fast, but she'd been so careful about concealing their hardships. And, she knew this had probably been a real blow to Melissa, who had also been afraid of what people might find out.

"…And, maybe he _does_ like boys _now_ since he has no memory and maybe since he doesn't know who I am he doesn't want me anymore…"

This was enough for Mary, who shut her up fast upon hearing this horrid accusation.

"Sweets, that's not true," she insisted. "He doesn't live here – he doesn't know anything. Marshall loves you. Don't you?"

The ball was in his court. He looked startled at being invited into the discussion when it couldn't have been more obvious minutes before that he was supposed to keep quiet. Now was not a good time to do that, however, because Melissa was looking at him for approval, and all he was doing was standing there with his mouth open, like he hadn't understood the question.

Well, Mary's tolerance was already wafer-thin, and the dumb look he was displaying was enough to make her order him away. Instead, she gave him a sharp nudge that was like a whip cracking.

"Marshall!"

"I…I, yes…" he knew that tone meant nothing good and got down to business. "…Of course. Of course I love you."

Mary wanted to slap him. He couldn't have sounded less convincing if he'd tried, and the woman felt justified in feeling like this because she could tell just by looking at Missy that she didn't believe him either. Maybe he did still love her, maybe he didn't, but the way he'd just uttered this statement didn't win him any points.

Swayed more than ever now by the suspicion that she could not count on Marshall to back her up in this nightmare, at least not while he was still recovering from his bout of amnesia, Mary contented herself with frowning deeply in his direction. Unfortunately, she wasn't very tactful about it, because Melissa caught the look of disgust and features that were already pained suddenly intensified.

"So, what happened next?" the woman goaded frantically, doing her best to block Marshall out.

"Nothing…" Missy's voice was smaller than it had been before, more humiliated. "He just said some other stuff about how Marshall probably never wanted me anyway because I'm a shrimp and a klutz and then he took my glasses and I can't remember what he said after that."

This last portion was said in a rush, like Melissa wanted to get it over with as fast as possible. What was more, Mary didn't think for a second she'd forgotten the rest of the unkind words Owen had hurled at her, but was willing to let that part go.

"I tripped and fell over trying to grab my glasses back, but I couldn't get them. I scraped my elbow."

Turning to the side, she pulled up the sleeve of her yellow thermal shirt and showed them where her skin was peppered with band-aids. But, before Mary or Marshall could get a very good look, she shoved the fabric back down to hide the wound, thrust her glasses off her face and sunk with her chin in both hands, looking woebegone and frustrated.

Mary didn't know what to say now, nor did she understand her discarding her spectacles, but it seemed she was about to be enlightened on why she'd taken them off.

"One of the ear pieces got bent…" she huffed, and for the first time, she sounded like she might cry. "I can still wear them, but they feel crooked." Her vocal chords began to tremble with the effort of keeping the tears at bay, "I know how expensive they are, and I'm sure you're mad at me because they're almost broken…"

This was an easy place for Mary to cut in, "No, sweets; I'm not mad at all…" she picked up the glasses to examine them and saw that her daughter was right; one side was a little skewed. "It isn't your fault. We can get you a new pair – maybe this weekend."

"I like those," a sniffle.

"They'll have ones like these," Mary just assumed, as the little girl's pair were a fairly standard issue – oval glass with silver frames. "Don't worry about your glasses, okay? That's not important…"

"That's right…" Marshall must've gone softhearted watching Melissa whimper, all pale and dejected, her face so bare without her spectacles. "What's important is that you're okay."

As far as Mary was concerned, there was nothing 'okay' about the second grader, but she supposed that her husband was referring to the fact that she hadn't been beat up or gravely injured in her scuffle.

"I couldn't see anything when I didn't have them on…" she peered at her step-father in a squint, rubbing one eye with her index finger. "I was trying to get back toward the school, and because it was the biggest thing on the playground I knew where it was, but I still ran into things before Miss Newman saw me…"

"Well, your eyes aren't very good, girly," she didn't need a reminder of this, but Mary said it anyway, mostly because anger was crawling at her insides again just picturing the scene. "It's lucky Miss Newman was paying attention; at least she gave you some help."

The injustice of it all was still so stinging. Mary would've had half a mind to scare all the little midgets half to death with her badge and gun if she'd been in attendance when Melissa had been targeted on this supposedly normal Thursday. Her desire to protect her, shield her from harm, was stronger than ever; she might still be that three-pound baby with the oxygen tubes. Some days, her mother never stopped seeing her that way.

"I _wanted_ to ask for help…" there was definite indignity in her voice now, no mistaking it. "But, I was never sure who I was asking; at least I figured out who Miss Newman was because she's tall…"

"It's okay…" Mary promised. "You did your best. I know that," she wanted to shower her with praise; as if this would make up for the prejudice she had been served. "Here, put these back on, sweets; they'll work until Saturday…"

She passed the glasses back into her waiting hand, tired of watching her strain to see everything around her, mostly Marshall who was still towering above both of them. It took a moment for her to adjust them, as the one bad side did tend to slip off her ear, but she managed in the end. Unfortunately, she didn't look any happier once she could see; with her chin right back in her right hand.

"I'm really sorry that this kid did this to you, Melissa…" anything to get the gloomy look off her face. "I knew things were bad, but I didn't think it was like this. I want you to know you did the right thing by trying to find someone who could lend a hand for you…"

"I guess so…"

"You did; these kids that pick on you need to know that they can't get away with it, and Miss Newman and Mrs. Hodges are the ones who can tell them off…"

"I don't think Mrs. Hodges really cares," Missy whispered to the countertop. "I heard her say something to Miss Newman after she'd talked to Owen…"

"What did she say?" this was intriguing.

"That I should've told Owen to knock it off, but it wouldn't have mattered if I had…"

"You don't think so, Melissa?" Marshall threw in out of nowhere, and Mary shot him a filthy glance, knowing where this was probably headed, but he wasn't looking at her, his eyes fixed firmly on his step-daughter. "I mean…I don't know that Owen would've stopped what he was doing and you _definitely_ should've found a teacher to report him…" this made it sound like tattling, which infuriated Mary, but he wasn't done. "But, sometimes it can make you feel better about yourself if you stand up for what you think is right."

The old Marshall would've been able to read his wife's mind a mile away just by looking at her, and at the moment he would've been hearing, 'Shut up now; back off; you don't know anything!' But, it seemed that his ESP on his longtime partner had faded right along with his memory. He wasn't stepping down; he was going to plead his case just as he had done when Mary had first gotten the call at the office.

Melissa frowned, biting on her lip, and her mother got the distinct impression that she thought Marshall was blaming her, although he had never once raised his voice or said anything to support such a theory.

"I…I don't…" meekly, she looked from one parent to the other. "…I don't…know what I would have said. I…I just wanted him to go away…"

"Well, you could say that," Marshall turned her thoughts back on her, speaking in a breezy, 'it's just that easy' sort of tone. "Tell him to leave you alone, tell him you don't like what he's doing…"

"But, then he might do _more_ if I made him mad…"

"Yes, he might," Mary backed her up, shooting daggers at Marshall for throwing these ideas out into the open. "Nobody wants you to get hurt, sweets. We want you to be safe…"

"But, I thought how I stay safe is asking for help…"

"You're exactly right," the blonde reinforced. "Marshall's just being…"

"But, he said I should stand up to people," there had been no missing that. "That I should be a bully too…"

"You see what you're doing; you're confusing her…" Mary hissed lethally, but Marshall was already clarifying his intentions, limping his way another step forward so he was practically on top of both of them.

"Standing up for yourself is not being a bully," he insisted with a shake of his head. "Owen started it; you didn't do anything to him and letting him know that it bothers you is not the same as…"

"But, that would be mean!" she was sounding more mixed up by the minute, head turning wildly from side-to-side as if the answer lay somewhere in the middle. "Mom…I don't…" her pleading gaze was enough to rip Mary right in two. "…I don't understand…"

"Melissa, you did everything right, okay? If you would rather do it your way – our way – then never mind what Marshall says…"

The phrase was chilling. Mary was sure she had never said it before, nor had she had any reason to. Marshall looked as though she had physically harmed him by dismissing him so openly, without regard for the fact that both he and Missy were standing right there to hear her say that his opinion was of no importance. It had been said in the heat of the moment, but Mary knew that she hated seeing her daughter so torn, so caught between what she had always been taught and Marshall's newfangled method. She did not need more to be puzzled about.

But, it seemed that the blonde's outspoken technique of getting Melissa to do what she deemed best had lit a fire in Marshall. His next words proved he was becoming as aggravated as his wife was.

"Let me explain, all right?" it was as if Mary was not there; he tried to smile at the little girl, but she did not smile back. "I don't want you to think its okay to be unkind to another person – that's not what I mean at all…"

"You said I should treat people how I want to be treated!" the golden rule. "That's what you've _always_ said – you just don't remember!"

Marshall skated over this fairly neatly, "That's true – that's absolutely true," another nod of his head. "But, there is a difference between being mean just to be mean – that's what Owen did to you today, right?" Melissa didn't acknowledge this one way or another, so he pressed on. "…And fighting back when someone tries to knock you down…"

"You mean like hitting somebody?"

"No, not like that…"

"Marshall, enough!" Mary was ready to drag him out of the room by his elbow, and hearing her mother speak so sharply to the man made wetness shine in Missy's already weary eyes. "Let it go; this is not what she wants…"

"I didn't mean literally 'knock you down,'" he ignored Mary as easily as she had been ignoring him. "That was a poor choice of words; I'm sorry. I meant like…someone says something hurtful to you and you can tell them to stop because it's hurting your feelings…"

"That'll work real well," the female muttered under her breath, furious that he wasn't paying any attention to her. "Once they _know_ they're hurting her feelings, that won't make them come in for the kill…"

The sarcasm distracted Melissa still further; Mary had never seen her look so befuddled. She was used to such a smart, bright, clever little girl, and this one appeared as though she didn't know which way was left or right. Everything she'd ever been told was suddenly being flipped upside-down.

"There's nothing wrong with saying that," Marshall assured the child. "It'll let Owen – and anyone else who's making fun of you – know that they can't walk all over you, that you're strong, and if they don't stop you _will_ get help…"

He was going to go on, but Melissa cut across him. Her voice was now as timid as Mary had ever heard it – sad, beaten, and trapped in a world that was no longer her own.

"You don't think I'm strong?"

It was apparent that Marshall had not intended to send this message, and he did look remorseful upon realizing that this was how the eight-year-old had taken it. But, Mary was through with his games. This wasn't the time for lessons in self-respect; this was the time to build Missy up, to let her know she was so much greater than anyone in her class would ever lead her to believe. She was going to button Marshall's trap or die trying.

"Of course you're strong; don't be ridiculous…" she hopped out of her chair, speaking in a brisk, no-nonsense voice that was not nearly as coddling. "You grew from three pounds for Christ sakes; you're as strong as they come. I was there, I remember."

Some of them, unfortunately, did not.

"Don't worry about this anymore, sweets," Mary clapped her shoulder roughly, ending things on an abrupt note. "How you handled the situation was just fine. Why don't you go get your backpack and put it where it goes and then come back and finish your snack, all right?"

Melissa knew an order when she heard one and slid off her stool without another word, although her features spoke for themselves. She could not seem to take her eyes off her mother or her step-father; not only were they giving her two completely different bits of advice, but they were also at odds with each other, something she had rarely seen in her eight years of life.

Once she had dragged herself through the living room, retrieved her bag, and disappeared down the hall, Mary didn't waste a second ripping into Marshall. How she'd waited this long, she had no idea, and she was in his face faster than he could blink.

"What is the _matter_ with you, Marshall?" he was back to being an unknown, some unidentifiable individual inhabiting her husband's body. "You could at least pretend to care!"

"I _do_ care!" fitting right in with his theme of taking a stand; he wasn't going to take anything else lying down. "How can you possibly say that I don't? I'm trying to give her some self-assurance…!"

"She doesn't need this psychobabble of yours!" Mary just stopped herself from poking him in his chest now that she was so close to him, because he would probably fold like a camp tent. "I brought her Finkel and Finkel said she's fine – that keeping the family together is what matters most and so far you're doing a bang-up job with that!" she dripped with mockery and disdain, complete with a roll of her eyes.

"So, because I disagree with you and I'm not afraid to say so, that puts the family in jeopardy?"

Mary had to take a minute to figure out what he meant by this, eyes narrowed into slits and scurrying left to right the entire time. Breathing hard, he used his opportunity while she pondered to dump his crutches by the sink, slipping into her now-vacated chair.

"I don't understand _why_ you disagree with me!" the woman finally said, slapping her hand against her jeans. "I know that you're still catching up, but all it takes is one encounter with Melissa to know that she needs all the help she can get."

"Mary, that's a terrible attitude," Marshall told her bluntly, shocking her further. "I understand that she is your child, that because of the circumstances surrounding her birth and what she's been left with as a result that you think she's fragile, but surely you want her to have some independence…"

"But, she's _eight_, not eighteen!" the other roared, this time throwing her head back before zeroing in on him once more. "When she needs to be independent and look out for herself, she will, but…"

"She won't unless you teach her to!" in contrast to his wife's anger, Marshall was giving off the air that his point was critical – perhaps to survival. "I'm not talking about social independence – she has that down pat; I'm sure she's the only kid in her class that can happily play for hours all by herself, and that's a talent…"

"Marshall, spit it out," Mary snapped. "What exactly is your point?"

"You can't let her be a victim…"

"She is _not_ a victim!" she was livid over the use of this term, no matter how true it might be; it meant her little girl was defenseless and puny and, whatever Mary thought about her inadequacies, you would never hear her say such a thing out loud. "She's being used a punching bag for sport, and I am not about to encourage her to step into the fray so she can get her teeth knocked out next time!"

"So, this is your strategy?" it was his turn to raise his hands palms-up. "Watch her like a hawk; have her depend on everyone around her for the rest of her life instead of showing her how to do for herself?"

Mary wasn't going to dignify this with a response, "Do you honestly believe if she'd stomped her foot and got in that Owen's face and said, 'Cut it out; you're hurting my feelings…!'" she made her voice a high, sing-song falsetto. "…That-that would've done a damn thing? What planet do you live on?"

"Don't insult my intelligence," he requested coolly. "I know it doesn't work that way. The goal is to project a certain measure of poise so that she isn't such a target…"

"Jesus, Marshall! It's too late! These kids have made up their minds – they've ostracized her already…!"

"I think _you're_ the one who's made up your mind!" he emphasized, his blue eyes suddenly a steely, stony grey. "You've decided she's too…_something_ – I don't know what – to defend herself and that's as damaging to her as what her peers are doing…"

"And you don't think having to _think_ for five minutes before you insist you still love her is damaging?"

It was satisfying to see him sigh, to admit even nonverbally that he had made a mistake, like the many mistakes he was condemning Mary of making. She tried to slow her heavy breaths while he worked out an excuse for his behavior, but she could feel that her skin was hot and her fingers were still shuddering, like they couldn't wait to grab something and choke it.

But, when the man opened his mouth, he didn't come toting rationalizations – just more blame.

"I'm sorry about that, but you put me on the spot…"

"When she heard that you didn't know her from some nosy girl next door, she barely blinked…" Mary wanted to make him feel badly; it was cruel, but she felt like she was getting hit from all sides and it was overwhelming; her support system was crumbling more and more by the day. "She told me how it didn't matter whether you could remember her or not because on the inside you were still the same and that was the part of you she loved…"

"Mary…" he articulated quietly through her guilt trip. "I know that this isn't all about what happened at school. I'm sure she must be having a very hard time dealing with my new…deficiencies…" describing himself in such a way made him wag his head, as though to get rid of the idea. "But…you wanted me back in your life and I wanted to come. If that's the case, I'm going to offer my input…"

"I don't get you!" his calmness was suddenly annoying and she growled at him once more, not done with her fight. "You were never like this before! Never in a million years would you have suggested that Melissa engage in some sort of playground brawl…"

She knew she was exaggerating, that Marshall wasn't talking about anything physical when it came to taking a stand, but how he replied was so outrageous that you could've knocked her over with a feather.

"Just not out loud, you mean?"

His face was impassive, but the gentle smugness made Mary's heart pound.

"Am I supposed to decipher what that means?"

"It means maybe I _did_ feel this way all along, but I didn't want to rock the boat. Is that how it was in our marriage? I kept quiet for the sake of keeping the peace?"

Mary didn't know, and neither did he. How would she, if he really had been staying mum to avoid a blow-up like the one they were currently having? If he didn't recall how careful and subtle he used to be, then there was no reason for him to adopt that persona again. He was speaking his mind, no longer fearful that his love for Mary would be in jeopardy if he ever did anything so scandalous as to disagree with her.

"Well, I don't know…" she informed him snidely. "But, a mother is vicious when provoked, Marshall. Is this your way of saying that this isn't how you remember me, with or without a kid?"

"Nope…" he said simply, but he looked absolute.

Her way, or the highway.

"This is _exactly_ how I remember you."

XXX

**A/N: I know, the fighting is dreadful, and I rarely write it, so I wasn't sure how to approach it! Hopefully this seems realistic!**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N: I wish I could say the drama went down a little here, but it just picks up steam!**

XXX

The evening went downhill from there. Marshall, who was eager to stick by his convictions but didn't seem interested in anymore arguing, kept to himself on the sofa, his nose buried in various books. Mary stayed away from him in the kitchen and, since she was not in the mood to do a lot of cooking, ended up making macaroni and cheese from a box because it was what Melissa had asked for. Her daughter sat perched on a stool at the island, not saying a word, likely swathed in all the tension floating around. Mary knew this wasn't fair to her and wanted to say so, but ruminating anger at Marshall kept her from sticking up for him.

They ate in continuing silence, Melissa's fork clanking against her bowl, yellow cheese smeared on her upper lip, which then became coated with milk from her glass. She was the one who eventually got them to start talking, forcing neutral topics because the quiet was probably too much for her. Mary obliged, only reluctantly, but Marshall made a much better effort. He catered to whatever Melissa said, trying to stir up some form of conversation even if it went nowhere.

And, once the little girl was tucked into bed after supper, Mary's resolve in staying pissed off began to weaken. It was exhausting being so livid with someone she loved so much, and couldn't recall a time she'd ever felt so strongly about it. The closest she'd come was when Marshall had given her such grief over telling Raph that she worked in WITSEC. He had been next-to-impossible to be around, and she'd longed to hit him several times for being so pompous, even if she knew he had a point. This was much the same; her own stubbornness was likely what was putting her so out-of-sorts, but she had too much pride to say so.

Unfortunately, whatever mild desire she had to try and start over with a more adult discussion was flushed down the toilet when she noticed the little blinking light on her answering machine. Admittedly, she did not check the machine as often as she knew she should because she was so reliant on her cell phone, so there was no telling how long the unread message had been there.

With a sigh, she laid the last of the plates in the dishwasher and called out to Marshall about noticing this development.

"We have voicemail…" she announced. "I wonder what long-lost person was so anxious to talk to us that they actually tunneled through our landline."

Marshall craned his neck from the couch to see what she was talking about.

"Hmm…" he hummed curiously. "Better check the wires in the yard, make sure it wasn't a couple of rabbits trying to get through."

This was a poor joke, but it was communication and he was trying to keep things light. And so, Mary dried her hands on a dishtowel, stepped to the counter, and hit the button that would put the message on speaker. She could have no idea what sort of trouble it would cause – she seemed to be a magnet for attracting it on what was fast-becoming a very dismal Thursday.

"Hello, Mrs. Shannon; this is Courtney Newman again…"

Mary shared a look with Marshall upon hearing this, wondering what else this woman could have to say after she'd just spoken to Mary that morning. Furthermore, she had her cell phone number, so why would she call the house?

"…I am sorry to bother you at home; I tried calling your cell phone around four thirty so I wouldn't catch you in the evening, and I didn't receive an answer so I thought I would take a shot at a second number, so I hope I'm not disturbing you…"

The politeness was lost in the fact that Mary realized she wouldn't have heard her phone at four thirty because that was when she'd been so busy ranting and raving with Marshall.

"…I neglected to mention when we spoke earlier that the end of the first quarter is approaching – we start the second after Halloween – and a new quarter is really the ideal time for students to begin new classes or groups from a grading standpoint…"

Uh, oh. Mary had a feeling she knew what was coming now, and it wasn't anything she wanted to fool with when she was already tired and strung out from so many emotions running high. But, there was no stopping Courtney's professional, businesslike tone, nor was there any way to keep Marshall from hearing what she was saying as well.

"…I know that when we met a few weeks ago we discussed placing Melissa in our gifted program since she qualifies based on her test scores. I am fairly certain Mrs. Hodges gave you the forms to fill out, but if you would like another copy I can get those for you…"

Mary whipped around to look over her shoulder. Even from a distance, she could see that the aforementioned papers were still right where they'd been when Melissa had brought them home a week earlier – stuffed in the 'junk' basket in the middle of the island.

"…If you were still interested in Melissa being a part of the class, I'm more than happy to set up a meeting with our teacher in charge, or if you have questions you can always ask me. If you could just give me a call to let me know when you've decided, I can inform Mrs. Hodges and anyone else that needs to know of your wishes. I appreciate it; have a good night…"

The ear-splitting beep rang through the room, soundly cutting Miss Newman off, and with it any hope of Mary salvaging her evening. Slowly, she reached over and hit the necessary numbers to erase the message, which gave her a second or two to think.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe Marshall would be feeling benevolent and wouldn't want to stir anything up. But, she well remembered how he had reacted when she'd first gone to him with Melissa's chance to be with a bunch of other smart kids. They'd never really talked about it before he'd had the accident, but his attitude in the hospital had been pretty clear – it was in Missy's best interest to go where he thought she 'belonged.' And, Mary was still ambivalent, although why she didn't want to get her out of her current class as fast as possible didn't entirely make sense even to her.

And yet, sometimes even two options didn't make a choice any easier to pin down. She might be selfish, but Mary still wished there was another way – another opportunity for Melissa to shine while simultaneously molding her with the crowd.

Marshall was looking fairly pokerfaced from where he sat, so at least part of Mary's theory about his reaction was right on the money. He wasn't declaring his position just yet, although that didn't mean it wasn't coming.

"I wasn't aware that you hadn't already made a decision about the gifted program…" it had indeed been several days since they'd last gone over the particulars. "Didn't you discuss it with Mark?"

"Yeah…I did…" Mary stepped around the counter, leaning against the outer edge. "But…he said I should do what I think is right, that he'd sign off either way…"

"Well, I think after today, the choice is clearer than ever," Marshall proclaimed boldly. "I mean, what more confirmation do you need?"

She'd been afraid of this – afraid that what was so obvious to him was still so murky to her. She tried to make herself feel better by reiterating that Marshall didn't really know everything, not like he used to. If he were more in the present, he would feel differently. But, a leaden feeling in her gut told her that probably wasn't true. Melissa had said he supported the move even before the accident, and there was no reason to think she'd lie about it.

"Confirmation of what, exactly?" Mary's voice was stiff, but controlled.

"That Melissa needs to be somewhere she fits in. What better place than a room with other students who are on her level?"

"I don't think it's as easy as you make it sound."

"Why not?" he frowned.

"I just…"

She wanted to explain – she was _dying_ to explain. After the day she'd had, what she wanted most in the world was for Marshall to understand her again. And yet she knew that no matter what she said or how she said it that he wouldn't get it. His vision wasn't centered on her and her reservations, but on what Melissa needed. In some ways, she should be grateful for that, especially when he didn't even remember the little girl, but it stung that he couldn't find time to be more considerate of her feelings.

"…I just don't like to think of the school pawning her off…" she went on, even though she knew it would be to no avail. "They're dumping her in this class so they don't have to deal with her issues; it's letting her run away from her problems…"

"Mary, I listened to that message; it didn't sound that way at all…"

"Well, not from her teacher, no…" Mary would give Courtney that much credit. "But, you don't remember the nightmare of a meeting we had to have with her principal; that was the day you had the accident…"

"So, what about it?"

How to describe someone like Mrs. Hodges? How did she depict a woman so medieval in her thinking, so harsh in her operations, to someone as supposedly kind as Marshall? He would think Mary was embellishing, that she couldn't be as bad as all that, and he'd be wrong.

And so, she drudged up the worst bit of power that the principal had flaunted from that conference – something that was sure to make him see they were dealing with a dictator. Arching off the counter, she took a few steps toward him, so that only the coffee table rested between their figures.

"She didn't even give you a second thought – she wouldn't let you sign off on any of the paperwork because you're not…"

Mary was already halfway there before she stopped herself. Even though she despised Regina Hodges and everything she stood for, she had forgotten how truly haunting she had made that meeting. Forcing Mary to scrape up enough gumption to admit that Marshall wasn't not related to Melissa by blood had killed her.

"…Because you're not Melissa's father…" she lowered her voice to a whisper. Pitching it higher as she went on, "What sort of person does that? She was just looking for a way to discredit us; she doesn't care about Melissa; all she cares about is letting the parents know who's in charge…"

"But, this isn't about me," Marshall argued. "So, she took a pot shot at me, so what? Who cares?"

"I care!" the woman had known he was going to brush it aside, and she couldn't; she couldn't pretend she was invincible to such criticism of the way they lived. "I care about how she sees us; she has no room to judge!"

"Well, maybe not, but that really isn't the point…" he countered. "People are always going to evaluate others unfairly; it's a part of life…"

"You don't have to educate me on the mysteries of life, Marshall," his condescension was getting to her; it always did when she was spoiling for a fight. "You don't think I know that not everybody's going to approve of me? _Nobody_ has _ever_ approved of me, not since I was Melissa's age…"

"And, I think you're going to let your own insecurities hold her back!"

He hadn't shouted, but he was as emphatic as they came, and Mary felt a sick, swooping sensation in her stomach to go along with building, mounting fury so familiar to what she had already felt earlier that day. At first, she'd been so aggravated with him because he hadn't seemed to grasp what Melissa really needed; he wouldn't see it any other way but his own. But, now the insults – veiled though they were – were cutting rather close to the bone. It wasn't Missy he was disappointed in, but Mary.

And, like her daughter, that disappointment from someone whose opinion she usually valued so much was sharp and painful. But, Mary didn't deal with 'sharp and painful' by wallowing. She fought back. If Marshall was going to preach such a thing to Melissa, she hoped he appreciated it manifesting itself in his wife.

"You are unbelievable, you know that?!" all restraint was slowly seeping away. "I can't believe you have the audacity to waltz back in here when you're _this_ clueless and act like you know how to fix us!"

"I didn't say you need fixing; I said…!"

"No, I heard what you said!" Mary didn't want to give him a second to make excuses. "I heard about how you think I'm some sort of nursemaid that won't let my kid grow up, I heard how you think she needs to be in with the other eggheads like she's some kind of walking science experiment…!" He had opened his mouth to retort, but she carried on right over him. "And, I heard how you think it's _my_ problems, not hers, that are screwing her up!"

Part of her expected Marshall to mull this over, to try and dial things down before they escalated again, but he didn't. Instead, he threw out a hand to the arm of the couch and lifted himself up with surprising strength even though his crutches were nowhere around. It didn't seem as though he was in any hurry to grab them either – more interested in standing on one foot to give Mary a piece of his mind.

"I never said any of that – that's _your_ interpretation!" it was difficult for him to balance without anything to hold onto, and Mary had the urge to grab him, but instead clawed at the legs of her jeans, unsure if her convulsions really came from wanting to help, or push him over. "You wanted me back in this family, if I remember right…"

"You never left it! Just the fact that you feel like you had to 'come back' says what you think about us…"

"Mary, I do not look down on you!" now he was revving up, upping his volume to match hers, not about to be trampled on. "There is nothing wrong with the existence you've crafted – Melissa can have me and Stan and Mark and I could care less if it makes her different…"

"Like hell you…"

"It's _you_ who can't let it go!" it was startling to see his jaw so rigid, his cobalt eyes blazing with agitation. "You know she's happy the way she is – at least at home – and you can ramble on about how that's all you care about, but there is an enormous part of you that still wants her to be like everyone else!"

"That's _not_ just me!" she was going to get him for that, now standing almost nose-to-nose so that a sheer breath might knock him over. "She's constantly bemoaning that she doesn't have a father; it makes her stand out, and not in a good way…"

"Yeah, and where do you think she got the idea that having a father makes you 'normal'?"

The woman really thought she might strike him then; that he would accuse her so blatantly was maddening. And so, breathing so hard that smoke might be billowing out her nostrils, she forced herself to take a step back, for all the good it did her. If she didn't whack him, she was going to throw something soon; all her nerves were jangling, disintegrating into pieces.

"_Me?_ Are you talking about me?" she bit at him so pointedly that her words were emitted like bullets. "I didn't give her any ideas about that – it's those idiot kids in her class!"

"Maybe so…!" he punched a threatening finger at her. "Maybe so, but I don't exactly see you supporting a different theory! If you chose to live this way, why don't you own up to it instead of constantly trying to straddle some middle ground where she's 'unique' but also a carbon copy!"

"You are a moron!" it wasn't very mature, but nothing infuriated Mary more than someone thinking they were above her, and her husband's infusing arrogance was too much. "And delusional, I might add! The world is a battleground, Marshall; it is my job to see that she stays protected from the gunfire…"

"She's not a witness; she's your daughter!"

"I know perfectly well who she is – unlike you!"

This was getting rather below the belt, and Marshall looked like he thought so too. Whether it was Mary's insult that made him stagger or the fact that he simply couldn't hold his balance with such a heavy leg, she wasn't sure, but he gripped at the arm of the couch with whitened knuckles, although he never once took his eyes off Mary.

"You think this is my fault…" he breathed, suddenly in a much quieter, but equally frightening voice. "You think that one day everything I've forgotten will magically come rushing back…"

"Marshall, please, I am not a child…" she tried to release his notions, but he wouldn't let her.

"…And that when it does, everything will be fine again…" finishing his original thought. "Well, I have news for you, _inspector_…" the use of her formal title was jarring, so impersonal, and Mary stared at this stranger in front of her, this stranger who suddenly seemed to think so little of her overnight. "It doesn't work that way, and you can't pin this on me!" his tone of measured realization was beginning to catch fire again, the words pressing louder and louder. "If I had never been hit, you would still be in this rut, and you know it!"

"But, you _did_ get hit!" Mary had no intentions of rebuffing everything he had thrown at her, and so went with the easiest target. "You _did_ get hit, and now Melissa has a hundred other things to worry about that she never did before – you heard what that kid said to her about you and your amnesia…!"

"Is that my fault too?" his orbs were wide now, glassy in the yellow lamplight falling over the room.

"No, it's not your fault! Don't be such a martyr!" she snapped. "What's your fault is you thinking you know how it works around here – you thinking that a new class and a new, braggy attitude on the playground is going to cure everything!"

"_I'm _not the one who wants to cure Melissa!"

"You shut up!" unable to hold back any longer, Mary satisfied her need to beat him to a pulp by kicking the coffee table; it rattled ominously and a glass sitting on it actually toppled over and rolled onto the carpet. "I can't believe you would say that to me!"

"All I'm saying…"

But, the woman was on the verge of screaming herself raw; her face reddening, eyes popping while concurrently flooding with searing, messy, ugly tears.

"I can't cure her when there's nothing wrong with her to begin with – that you would even suggest that is disgusting!"

Her first defense was deafening and purposeful, but as she continued on her determination began to shatter, the moisture unable to be kept at bay, the idea that she was in so far over her head crashing profoundly down into her midst.

"She is _everything_ to me; when she was born I could've lost her and if it hadn't been for you I would have!" rivulets trickled down her cheeks, but her voice was as powerful as ever; a cruel mix of resentment and sorrow. "I am not going to risk losing her again by letting her fend for herself or putting her in a situation where she is going to be some odd duck that gets stoned to death for being smart!"

Marshall seemed torn between sympathy and vexation, although from what the blonde could see through her tears, it was more the latter.

"And, apparently, no matter how hard I try, it doesn't matter because I almost lost her anyway – I almost lost _both_ of you!" the accident was replaying itself in her mind; the clouds of steam, the squeal of the brakes, that high-pitched, agonizing wail coming out of Melissa's mouth. "…Lost her to something as stupid as bad balance when all I've done her whole life is protect her! And now I have _you_ in the aftermath, this…shell of the person I married and I'm supposed to pick up the pieces and lie about how you still love her…!"

The personal slight seemed to sway Marshall fully back into his frustrations, compassion slowly fading. Evidently, her melodramatics had cost her, because he wasn't going to fall prey to theatrics as a tactic to get him to drop his case.

"You think this is just about you?" he cut in ruthlessly when Mary had to stop to take a breath. "This did not just happen to _you!_" the phrase was familiar; it had Jinx written all over it. "How do you think I feel?! How do you think I felt when I learned I got exactly what I'd wanted after keeping my mouth shut for almost a decade and now it's like I never even lived it!"

Empathy also stirred in Mary, but she stomped it down.

"Do you think it was easy to find out I built my happily-ever-after with you and then it was taken away from me?!" the strength in his argument seemed to be building the strength in his leg, because he was standing more proudly. "Because I didn't waste enough years pining away for you from afar – watching you go through men like Raph and Faber and going through hell every time I almost lost you!" repeating her phrases. "…To Spanky, to a gang loaded with guns, and – apparently! – to a burning building!"

The 'apparently' was supposed to indicate that he was still empty inside, that he didn't remember the fire any better than he remembered Melissa.

"Imagine my surprise when I woke up and discovered I had taken the plunge with you, and I'd about made up for all those years I sat on my feelings and there was no proof in my head at all!"

If he wasn't going to be susceptible to her anguish, she wasn't going to be susceptible to his. An eye for an eye; she wasn't going to let him claim his hardship was worse than hers, not when he'd so callously dismissed her explanation about why she was the way she was with Melissa.

"Well, it looks to me like you weren't missing anything!" she was cynical, disparaging. "Here you are, back to your married life, and it doesn't look like you could possibly be more miserable with me!"

"I am not miserable, I am frustrated!" that could not be disputed. "I am frustrated that you have this bright, energetic, beautiful little girl and you are going to let her suffer because you're so desperate not to let her slip through your fingers!"

"_Let_ her suffer?!"

"She is – she's suffering!" he would not change his view. "She is craving _something_, and you will never know whether it's a friend or a father or something else if you do not let her spread her wings! You have to let her make a change – if this class doesn't work, then try something else! Nothing will ever happen if you let her stay like she is…"

"She's _fine_ the way she is! She has me! She has Stan and Mark and Brandi and she's _supposed_ to have you too!"

"She needs more!"

"Then _I'll_ give her more, not some crackpot school, you hear?!"

"I know you hate change, Mary; you always have…"

"Shut up! Shut up! Just shut UP!"

Desperate to obstruct the obstacles careening at her from all sides, Mary screwed her eyes shut, her hands closing hard and fast around her arms, choking them, cutting into her skin like chains. The pressure, the pain, made her feel alive, made her feel like she was still breathing when she felt so close to sinking beneath the surface of the earth. A few stray tears wiggled out of the corners of her eyes, screwed up against the light and Marshall's blazing, mulish face.

Her demand seemed to have quieted him, at the very least, and when Mary thought she could handle it, she propped her lids back open, the brightness she had blocked out making her squint after the darkness she had endured. When the dust settled, Marshall was still there, and for a split second she thought they'd come to an understanding, that he was going to throw in the towel and start trying to comprehend where she was coming from.

And yet, that wasn't what happened. What did happen was more atrocious than Mary could've anticipated, even in light of everything else that had been said.

"I don't think…that this is the place I need to be tonight."

His timbre was back to being tranquil and Mary still felt she was going to fly off the rails. He was leaving? Leaving her – leaving Missy?

And, in spite of all her questions, only one word trembled out, "What?"

He had obviously come to a decision. He spoke clearly and deliberately; there would be no changing his mind.

"I think I need to leave you and Melissa for the evening and spend some time by myself."

"_One_ day?" Mary rebutted. "You made it _one_ day with us before you pull the 'I'm not ready' shit out of your back pocket?"

It was impossible to conceive that this was the same man who had come in so happily the day before, telling stories and making Missy laugh her head off.

"One day is all it is," Marshall persisted slowly. "This isn't the end; this isn't a divorce…"

Just that word alone was enough to make Mary bodily ill, but she swallowed the nasty taste in her mouth.

"But, we need the time apart – at least for the night," he continued to rationalize.

"You can't even walk!" Mary reminded him. "You can't drive! Where the hell are you going?"

"I'll call Stan and see if he'll put me up."

"And what if he doesn't?"

He didn't say anything to this, but the look on his face silenced Mary quickly enough. They both knew Stan would consent to playing peacekeeper for one evening. It was what he did best.

"I'm going to…go outside and get some air…" this was code for waiting on the porch until their boss showed up, meaning he couldn't even stand to be under the same roof as Mary for a second longer. "I hope that…"

She didn't let him finish, "Go _right_ ahead!" she was malicious because she was hurt, hating that the accomplishment of having him come home was now being blown to smithereens. "Do whatever the hell you want! I'm used to men who don't give a damn not being there when I wake up in the morning!"

And, with the biting memory of James to guide her, she turned on her heel and left Marshall wobbling on the spot. She stalked down the hall, past the bathroom, past the small bedroom, and into the master where she slammed the door and threw herself down on the bed. The covers were pulled back, rumpled where they had been slept in by Marshall the night before, as his condition prevented him from making the bed in a timely manner.

As she lay there, half out of her mind with anger and sadness and abandonment clouding her thoughts, she would've realized if she were a better person she would've handled the situation entirely differently. If she were a better person, she would've listened. If she were a better person, she would've allowed Marshall to express himself without running rampant over his beliefs. If she were a better person, getting along and working together would've been more important than being right. If she were a better person, she wouldn't have let fear of losing a loved one drive her desires to the edge of a cliff.

If she were a better person, she would've taken half a second to remember that Melissa was in her bedroom, and had probably heard every word they'd said.

XXX

**A/N: Ack! Oh no, right? Hope you are looking forward to what is coming next!**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: I am worried all the fighting has been too much to take – this chapter is no exception. But, this chapter – unlike the ones preceding it – was a long time coming. I saw it in my head when I first started this story, and yet once I actually got it written I thought it was probably too over-the-top. At this point, too, I am worried that after four chapters of nonstop arguing between our favorite pair that it will push some of you loyal readers over the edge! Nonetheless, here it is – and, I hope you'll believe me when I say it can only go up from here!**

XXX

Friday morning dawned grey and blustery, high winds beating against the sides of the house like loud, swiping fists. But, it wasn't the racket that kept Mary up through all hours of the night, it was knowing Marshall was gone, and possibly without a return date in mind. After not being able to go to sleep until around two in the morning, she staggered out of bed at six thirty to wake Melissa, and then crawled back under the covers. Puffy-eyed and feeling hopeless, she longed to succumb to a day of uninterrupted slumber; her lids were so heavy it was a struggle to stay awake long enough to hear her daughter leave her bed to use the bathroom before getting dressed.

In desperation, because she was afraid of what Missy might see or suspect from her red eyes and unkempt appearance, Mary phoned Mark and asked if he would stop by and drive her to school. He could obviously tell something was wrong, and when he wheedled out the information that Marshall had left, he said he would be right over. Mary couldn't pretend that another reason she wanted to call in reinforcements was so she wouldn't have to face her little girl and questions about why her step-father wasn't there. It was cowardly and the worst kind of spineless, but she was tired of keeping her head up.

Unfortunately, the plan that included Mary staying locked up in her bedroom while Mark took over didn't work. He summoned her within ten minutes of arriving, sounding apologetic but at the end of his rope. It seemed Melissa wanted to wear a pair of overalls that were currently spinning away in the washing machine, and refused to put on anything else. Thinking that she might finally convince her daughter to take a day off from school, Mary left her bed, only to discover this wasn't the case at all.

"I'm _going_ to school!" the child bellowed where she stood in her plaid pants and enormous T-shirt in front of the kitchen counter.

Mary and Mark stood opposite, the woman still casually dressed herself, and while she normally would've tried to reason with her child, especially given everything she'd gone through, she was short-tempered and dejected this morning. The result was that she had no patience and whatever rage she had left from her showdown with Marshall was projected on to her daughter.

"Then put some clothes on!" Mary retorted in response to Missy's inflexibility. "You're being silly! You have plenty of things to wear!"

"I want to wear my overalls!" she argued.

"Wear the khaki ones!"

"No!" her voice was all defiance and no reasoning; she was arguing simply to argue, to have an outlet for what had to be a colossal amount of stress. "I don't like those!"

"You liked them until today!"

"They get dirty!"

"Well, your denim ones are dirty too; that's why they're in the laundry!"

Here, Mark seemed to think it was prudent he step in, speaking far more calmly than either of the women, although he looked scared of both of them.

"This…this is my fault…" perhaps he thought if he took responsibility, it would give Melissa someone else to yell at. "I… I saw the basket of clothes sitting on the washer when I got here; I was trying to help; I didn't know you wanted to wear them, Missy Jean, I'm sorry…"

"No, you don't need to be sorry!" Mark being a chump didn't help anyone; Mary was not in the mind of an eight-year-old and her only goal was to have her grow up, just for today, so she could handle her own crises. "Melissa, you are being ridiculous! I don't even care if you go to school, all right?" she proclaimed. "Stay home if you want; it doesn't matter to me!"

"NO!" Missy's face was so red it made her green eyes dull, the whites streaked with equally as crimson veins. "I _need_ to go to school!"

"Then get your butt in your room and get dressed!" Mary pointed down the hall, as if she didn't know the way. "Wear your jeans! Wear sweatpants! Wear your pajamas; I don't give a damn! Just put something on so Mark can take you!"

"_You're_ supposed to take me!"

"Says who?" the woman snarked.

She was so tired, so unbelievably exhausted, and Melissa was testing her at the worst possible moment. Any other day, she might've been able to handle it; she could've broken her down with serenity and careful, logical questions. But, it seemed that any shrewdness she had ever possessed had left right along with Marshall. She was just waiting for Missy to ask where he was, and that would be whole new can of worms.

"I don't _want_ Mark to take me!"

This wasn't even directed at Mary, and it still made her blood pressure rocket through the roof. Here she had spent eight years fostering relationships between Melissa and however many fathers she claimed to have, and now she was rejecting the efforts.

"Quit being so mean to Mark!" she ordered, hoping she sounded more dangerous than she felt. "He loves you; he's been nothing but wonderful to you and this is the thanks he gets…"

"Mare, it's okay…" the man in question muttered under his breath, leaning close to ex-wife's ear, but she pushed him away, intent on saying her piece.

"You are not allowed to stand here and act like this just because you're upset!" not today, anyway. "We're _all_ upset; you don't see me throwing a fit over what to wear!"

"I heard you shouting at Marshall!"

Only the merest flicker of shame rippled through Mary's veins. She had known this must be the case, as neither she nor her husband had been especially tactful about keeping their voices down the night before. And yet, what would've been a perfectly acceptable reason for acting out yesterday was not the case anymore. Mary had reached her limit and if Melissa was going to take her to task, she was going to show her who was boss.

"I don't care if you did; that's my business – mine and Marshall's!" she got a little tongue-tied trying to come up with her defense, but she got there in the end. "If you want to go to school, find something to put on and get in the car and go! Otherwise, you're staying home!"

"I don't _want_ to stay home!" her voice was straining with suppressed tears, her crooked glasses flashing in front of her tormented jade eyes. "I don't _want_ to be here!"

"What's wrong with here?!"

"I _hate_ it here!"

And, they were back to debating just to debate, just to have something else to bat back at the aggressor. Well, Mary could play that game too.

"You do not, now stop it!" the inspector could not fathom a time in recent memory where she had ever been so harsh with Melissa, but now that they were in the thick of it, all her old abrasiveness was spilling out; she might as well have been a witness, just as Marshall had said. "If you really don't want to stay here, then where on earth do you want to go?"

"SCHOOL!"

"I can _tell_ you don't want to go to school; you're being stubborn!"

"I have to!"

"You do _not_ have to!" Mary argued. "I'm not making you! So, you have two choices. Stay with me or leave with Mark; he has a house to work on this morning, you'll have to stay out of the way and be careful, but…"

"No!" for the third time. "I want to go to Brandi's – take me to Brandi's!"

Her mother could tell she was casting wildly just for something to say, that she didn't know what she wanted, which was just as well because she wasn't going to be able to go to her aunt's. And, if she was clever enough, she was probably asking for something she _knew_ she couldn't have just for an excuse to rail at Mary some more.

Well, she was going to give her the chance.

"You cannot go to Brandi's; she's not watching you all day when she's so pregnant…" Mary shook her head insolently. Then, she decided she might float the idea of a compromise, "If you stay here with me, I can call Brandi and we can go over there together, maybe this afternoon…"

No sale.

"But, I want to _stay_ there!" Missy bawled, progressing to stamping her socked foot on the linoleum, all but shaking with fury. "I like Brandi; I want Brandi!"

"Well, you're not going!"

"Why?!"

"Because I said so!"

"That _sucks!_"

Mary was floored; "Melissa!" she scolded, her mouth hanging open, unable to believe something so crass had come out of her once-sweet little girl. "I don't want to hear that again; that's enough!"

Mark must've been astounded too. At the very least, he must have figured that if he was going to get insulted anyway, he might as well earn it, because he side-stepped Mary and stood in front of her. She could see him willing himself not to back down, to not be intimidated by a child of eight. When he spoke, he was solemn and firm, his normally youthful brown eyes concrete and unwavering.

"Missy Jean, this is getting out of hand," his attempt at playing big, bad dad was met with a vile stare, but he didn't falter. "Stop giving mom such a hard time. She gave you plenty of choices, so make a decision…"

"I'm not doing it because _you_ told me to," the second grader spat viciously, at which point Mary pushed Mark aside again.

"I told you to cut that out!" she almost tripped on her pajama pants trying to get back in the fray, probably because her legs were quivering. "You are being awful to Mark – tell him you're sorry!"

"NO!"

Mary still wanted her to apologize, but figured now wasn't the time and cut to the heart of the matter instead.

"Are you going to school, or not?"

"I don't have anything to wear!"

"Then you're staying home."

"I DON'T WANT TO!"

"Then go with Mark…!" she jerked her head at him. "It'll make up for how you've treated him!"

"I don't _want_ Mark!"

"If you say that one more time…!"

"I don't want Mark; I want a dad!"

The absurdity of this phrase, said in the middle of a burning confrontation, was completely lost on Mary. She was so intent on getting Melissa to cool her jets that she didn't stop to think, didn't stop to consider that she was fatigued and fuming and perturbed and _couldn't_ think clearly even if she'd wanted to. She simply powered on, oblivious to the look of horror that passed through Mark's features.

"You _have_ one!"

Whatever her daughter had expected her to say, it wasn't this. Mary heard it as though on a delay, and it was more Missy's look of genuine surprise that clued her in to what she had bellowed out of feeling ambushed. The air was thick and heavy with a sudden, unpredicted silence, all three individuals suspended in mid-action. Melissa dazed, but still furious, her uncombed hair tangled and ensnared in knots on her shoulders. Mary, wondering if she could take back her assertion – wondering if she wanted to – and Mark, brown eyes whirling from one girl to another, not knowing who to tackle first.

And yet, when Missy finally regained her confidence, it was as though there had been no lapse at all – she was as thunderous and as brutal as she'd been seconds earlier.

"I do not have a dad; you said so!"

And, the round began again, although Mary was much more aware of what she was saying now.

"Melissa, of course you have a dad; everybody has a dad! You wouldn't be here if you didn't have a dad!"

"_You_ said I _don't!"_

"I said you don't _call_ anyone dad; that's what I've _always_ said!" she was not going to put words in the woman's mouth. "Don't pretend you don't know that, and don't pretend that I've been keeping anything from you; we asked you _years_ ago if you wanted the truth and you said no…"

But, the ludicrousness of this was suddenly hitting Mary harder than it ever had in the past. Why had they ever placed such a daunting proposition on such a small child? Missy had only been five years old when they'd told her she could know who her father was if so desired, and she had refused. But, how could a kindergartener really be expected to make that decision? Had they all deluded themselves into thinking she was smart enough to choose on her own because things had been working so well the way they were? Had _they_ been so anxious not to muddy anything up with titles and labels and whose arm she would float on down the aisle in a snow white dress?

Before the accident, it had never mattered. It was easy to believe Melissa was happy being in the dark because that was exactly what she'd been – happy. It was only recently that she'd dropped subtle hints that she was yearning for the truth, whatever she did with it in the aftermath.

But, Mary couldn't get lost in her thoughts. She was jerked back to the present by Mark shooting her an incensed look; one that clearly said she should put an end to things right now. And, Melissa was back to screaming.

"Everyone at school has a dad, even if they never see them! Even if they have step-dads, they still have a _real_ dad!"

Mary's blood ran cold. A 'real' dad. She had done everything in her power not to disrupt the land of equal footing. The cracks in the globe's surface were beginning to appear; the earthquake was fast approaching.

"I tell them I don't and they don't believe me – they think I'm lying!"

"Melissa, you are not lying, but it's what you were taught – you have a dad just like everyone else; not using that name doesn't mean…"

"This is all _your_ fault!" the authority of guilt was back, and now it was Melissa's turn to point her finger and accuse. "It's _your_ fault – it's your fault!"

A chorus of 'your fault, your fault' seemed to ring in Mary's ears as Mark had another go at stopping the runaway train.

"Missy Jean, that isn't fair – don't talk to mom that way…"

"You're a LIAR!" she screeched, her voice cracking on the high octaves. "All of you are LIARS! I bet you were lying about Marshall saving your life – I bet there never was a fire! I bet Marshall _made_ you keep me when I was born or you would've given me away to some stranger you didn't even know!"

Mary couldn't help how these blows were sparking her vehemence again. She chewed on her lip, she balled her hands into fists, she fought it with everything she had, but hearing her daughter discount what had brought her and Marshall together – an instance that was already being erased by Marshall himself – meant there was no stopping her irritability from shooting off the charts…

"You brought Mark and Stan and Marshall here because you don't want me – you _never_ wanted me; that's what you told me! I don't want you either; I want a dad…!"

Before the mother's rage could break, Missy shouted her final piece of abuse and bolted down the hall and, shockingly, she didn't trip once. But, Mary didn't give her a second to get away. Heart positively banging in her chest, she stormed right after her, leaving Mark in the dust, but he made sure he wasn't forgotten either – for all the good it would do him.

"Mare – Mary! Wait – talk to me; don't do anything that…!"

But, his words were drowned when she caught up with Melissa, blew into the child's bedroom and slammed the door. The crash made the knick-knacks on her dresser rattle, but her little girl stood in the center of the space in her too-big-pajamas, her mangled glasses, and in that moment she had never looked so fierce. Marshall had told her to stand up for herself, and now she was getting her chance.

Unfortunately for her, she had a mother who could brawl with the best of them.

"Melissa, I've had enough of this community theater show you're putting on!" she wouldn't know what that meant, but Mary didn't think she was really paying attention anyway. "Don't you sit here and tell me how I feel about you. You are my whole life; I would die without you," now she was the one pulling out the theatrics. "If anything I ever did made you feel different or lesser from the kids in your class, then I'm…"

"_Who is it?!"_

Well, the inspector had been right in thinking she wasn't listening. Whatever had been on her mind when she'd fled the kitchen was obviously still on it. Something told Mary it had been pressing on her brain as well as her heart for much longer than she'd ever realized.

"Who is what?"

"Who is my dad?!"

At first, Mary did everything she could to stall.

"I am not telling you when you're like this!" she pinned the wait on her daughter. "When you're not a wreck, we can sit down and…"

"Tell me _now!"_

"You don't make the decisions, Melissa – I do!"

"I want to know _now!_ Who _is_ it?!" And then, in case Mary didn't get it, she said it again, _"Who is it?!"_

Her urgency rising was palpable. The clock was ticking. Two hearts were thudding like a pair of syncopated drums. The very air seemed to be breathing with the answer, if and when Missy was ready to hear it.

But, Mary waited – and she waited. She stood there, looking at the little girl in front of her, and wondered if telling the truth would change everything as much as she had always thought it would. For the first time, she tried to see Melissa not as this child who had brought them all so much joy, but as Mark's daughter. She couldn't. She just couldn't.

And she waited too long.

"I _know_ it's one of them!" the eight-year-old screamed, jerking her arms in her desperation. "I _know_ it is! Which one is it?!"

"It doesn't have to matter…" Mary warbled, but this was a mistake.

"It does _so_ matter!"

The woman knew that, but she was hoping it would buy her a few more seconds while she figured out how to lower the boom.

"It's not Stan!" Melissa interjected when she still didn't get a response.

"No…" the blonde murmured softly, glad her daughter had at least figured out that much, glad this didn't come as any kind of a surprise. "No, it's not Stan."

"Then who?! Is it Marshall or Mark?!"

Ribbons of film seemed to be unwinding over Mary's eyes. She heard laughter that seemed to echo, smelled the sweet scent of fresh summer grass, watched a pale blue sash that had come undone from its bow waving in the wind, listened to the pounding of feet as they raced from fence-to-fence. Sparkling feather boas and treetops and glasses dangling by one ear and fat red balloons whisked her from her horrifying present into a day far simpler than this one.

"…_I don't have a favorite…"_

"_Thank-you, mama…for letting the boys come…they're the best birthday present I have ever gotten…it wouldn't be the same without them…"_

"_Would you look at the three of them? Turning into complete fools for a five-year-old girl…"_

"…_Well, that's Missy Jean and the men who raised her…"_

It was a shrill, murderous voice that brought her back.

"Is it Marshall or Mark?!"

Tick. Tock. Three, two…

"Is it Marshall?"

One.

"No."

A curtain seemed to have fallen over her face. Maybe she hadn't honestly expected Mary to tell her. Her sweet round eyes, so very like Mary's, filled her entire face. All the fight drained and pooled somewhere around her ankles. Her mouth was open, but she had nothing to say.

"No, it's Mark. Mark is your dad."

The reveal hung between them like vapor, like gas, like smoke. Mary felt like she needed to say something else, something to soften the impact, but she didn't know what it would be. As the minutes passed and Melissa continued to look dumbfounded, the woman thought that, surely, the meltdown must be on its way. She was giving every indication that she was seconds away from sobbing – out of confusion or disappointment or just out of stress, Mary didn't know. And, when she thought it might be safe, she took a step forward and held out her hand.

"Melissa…"

Wrong again. The sound of her name seemed to act as a trigger. In one swift move, she lost her crestfallen appearance, and all the resolve that had sunk to her feet suddenly erupted in a monstrous geyser. Before Mary knew what had hit her, Melissa had stuck out her foot, swung it back, and smashed it into her dollhouse, sending miniature furniture and figurines careening in all directions.

"Melissa!"

Little wooden Stan and scientist Marshall and plastic Mark and Barbie Brandi, their homes, their blankets, the ambulance, the police station, and all the townspeople went flying – flying so erratically that Mary had to duck. What Missy hadn't managed to destroy with her foot, she ripped apart with her hands. Falling to the floor before Mary could stop her; she wrenched apart all three pieces of the house and then proceeded to throw everything she hadn't punted into the closet, bang after bang after bang issuing from the confines.

"No!" each toss was punctuated with the same word. "No! No! No…!"

"Melissa, stop it! Stop!"

"NO!"

This more agonizing, drawn-out wail made Mary drop to her knees. Not caring what happened next, just that she get her daughter back on level ground, she grabbed both her wrists in each of her hands, forcing her to drop what she was holding.

"Let go!"

Mary knew she wasn't hurting her, and did not abide.

"Stop this! Listen to me!"

"No – let go!"

Her eyes were shut and, up close, Mary saw that she was crying, just as she'd suspected she would. Her face was blotchy and patchy with red, but her mother spoke to her anyway, still clutching her rigid little hands for dear life.

"Sweets…Missy…Missy…" she was that helpless little girl in the NICU, the one Marshall had so aptly named. "Missy…please…"

"I don't _want_ any of this – I don't have a family!"

Mary bypassed her completely, rambling in a great, disjointed rush in hopes that something would click.

"Missy, Mark adores you; he adores you, this doesn't have to change anything, you don't have to do anything different; he loves you; after you were born he was on the first flight here, he left New Jersey behind, he never went back; he stayed here just for you…"

"Marshall will _never_ come home now!"

And there it was.

Mary almost couldn't breathe enough to utter another word.

"What…?"

"If Marshall were my dad he'd _have_ to come back, he'd _have_ to love me, he wouldn't be allowed to leave me, and now he doesn't have to! He'll go away and he'll never come home!"

How she could think that, when she knew all about Mary's father, was a mystery. She should know better than anyone that blood didn't guarantee anything, but there was no reason to expect her to be thinking clearly right now.

"Sweets, I made him leave…" Mary threw caution to the winds; she would say anything to end the tornado they were spinning within. "It's my fault; I'll fix it, I promise…"

"I don't _want_ him if he doesn't want me," a sad, pitiful little sob as she finally opened her eyes and Mary loosened her iron hold on her wrists only slightly. "I don't have anybody…"

"You have me, sweets, you have me…" the blonde shook her arms trying to get her to understand. "You're my girl; you've always been my girl; you grew in my belly, I promise you did; that's how it started, just the two of us; if you hadn't made it I don't know what I would've done…"

But, apparently, Melissa had-had enough. With a more powerful jerk than Mary thought she would've possessed, she pulled herself out of the woman's grip and covered her face with her hands.

"Go away. Leave me alone. Leave me alone."

"Melissa, I…"

"Leave me alone!"

And so, Mary went against better judgment, went against the unrelenting draw to comfort her child, picked herself up, and left Melissa crying on the floor, slamming the door behind her.

Her head was spinning, her brain a mixed-up, jumbled mess, and the very last person she wanted to see when she was in this state was Mark. He was still standing right where she'd left him, gazing thunderstruck down the hall, and suddenly all of her anger was funneled at him and everything he stood for. It would abate and eventually die, she was sure, but now she was too overwhelmed to see that. Right now, she loathed the band of boys who had so treasured Melissa. She loathed that they could come and go and break her little girl's heart when she had so willingly given it away. And, though deep down she knew it was not them who had caused this, it was them that she wanted to blame.

Mark saw her coming, a towering, rushing temper, but she only saw his mouth begin to move as though in slow motion.

"Mary, I…I never meant to…"

He'd heard. She didn't care.

"…I can…I don't have to…what…"

Before she knew what she was doing, she had grabbed the collar of his shirt – not hard, but enough to ensure he got the message.

"She's _mine_, you understand me?!"

"Of…of course…"

"She's _mine!_ Not yours, not Stan's, not even Marshall's! She's _mine!"_

And then, covered in hives of guilt, she let him go.

XXX

**A/N: I would love to hear what you thought of this. I appreciate any and all reviews you guys give me; you guys are the best.**


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N: Hopefully this chapter will be a bit of a breather after so many that have included angst!**

XXX

By some unknown force of nature that seemed to have swept through Mary's house, Melissa actually pulled herself together and went to school. If she'd been in any condition to do so, Mary would've stopped her – to hell with what the little girl wanted; she was the adult. But, by the time she heard the front door open and close, she was locked in her bathroom trying to figure out where to go from here. Thinking that Mark must've given up and left, Mary flew out to the living room and saw that both man and daughter were gone. The woman couldn't help being flummoxed, but the note her ex-husband had left on the table confirmed everything – Melissa had gone to school; he would drop her off and then proceed to his solar panel installation.

The Missy that Mary had witnessed in the bedroom, now strewn with the demolished pieces of the dollhouse, couldn't possibly have been ready to mingle with people. She'd been screaming and sobbing and throwing things. Where had she found the strength to pick up and go where she claimed she 'had' to be? What was more, why had she let Mark drive her? One thing had been clear in their heated exchange; she had seen quite enough of Mark. Mary had to wonder what they were talking about in the car – maybe nothing. In some ways, she hoped so. She prayed that Mark would be wise enough not to say anything about the business of fathers, although the fact that Melissa could just trot off to school after learning something so epic was completely beyond her mother.

But, even though she had intended to stay home and nap, or else spend another afternoon keeping Brandi company, the inspector figured that if Melissa was going to sit at a desk and work, she might as well do the same. So, much to her chagrin, she hitched on a pair of jeans and a purple turtleneck, because the wind was still blowing something fierce, and trotted off to the Sunshine Building with not a clue of what she would find when she got there.

And yet, Mary saw very quickly that she had only journeyed to the office to escape the house. She couldn't concentrate on anything on her desk and Eleanor, the only person who was in, kept throwing her suspicious, worried looks. She probably knew Marshall had not slept at home. Hell, she might've been at Stan's house when he'd gotten the call that his inspector needed a place to bunk. There were no secrets anymore.

The bright office lights made Mary squint and her head grew heavy from trying to decipher the miniscule type on all her documents. Her lack of rest from the night before was catching up with her, and she felt bled dry from such a hefty confrontation with Melissa. The weight of the circumstances pressed down on her, the pencil fell slack in her fingers, and as she twirled a strand of her around her finger she sailed away from her crazy, hectic life into a world that was so much blissfully plainer. Within twenty minutes of sitting down, she drifted off, not even caring if Eleanor saw her or who she told.

But, it turned out to be the office manager who saved her. With no idea how long she'd been under, Mary jerked at the touch of gentle nails on her forearm, shaking her tumbling hair out of her face to see her colleague looking strangely tall above her. Eleanor was blurred at the edges, the curls piled on top of her head looking like an oddly-shaped scoop of ice cream.

"Huh…what…?" the inspector slurred.

"Stan's coming in…" Eleanor whispered furtively with a glance over her shoulder, and Mary distinctly heard the swipe of a badge and the always-following beep. "I thought you might want to be, you know…" another look over her shoulder. "…Conscious."

Mary had no room to be offended, and was merely grateful to the head's up. Sitting up in her chair, which had nearly rolled out beneath her, she nervously tried to flatten her blonde tresses, quickly rubbing her eyes and straightening her top, which was askew. Eleanor dashed away the minute Stan set foot on the linoleum, not wanting to be caught looking mysterious.

"Morning, chief!" she called briskly. Tottering over to the kitchen unit, "Coffee?"

Vaguely, Mary wondered if Eleanor called Stan 'chief' when they were on dates. It seemed to be a habit at the office.

"Thanks, Eleanor, but I'll grab it in a little while…" he was carrying his briefcase, Mary saw, and appeared graver than he usually did before ten AM; there was no guessing why. "Do you think you could head back to the files and pull a few cases for me? The names are on a sticky note on my desk."

This was a diversion tactic if ever there was one. Stan was getting rid of Eleanor, keeping her occupied so he could talk to Mary without interruption. But, he didn't know the half of it now. He didn't know she'd blown things apart a second time by telling her daughter she could've been Melissa Stuber.

But, if the older woman sensed a distraction, she didn't care, because she got on board at once.

"Of course. Anything specific you want me to look for once I've found the folders?"

"The info is on the post-it," Stan said with a nod. "Thanks."

"Any time…"

It didn't take Eleanor long to bustle off to the boss' quarters, grab the aforementioned note, and head back to what Mary and Marshall often called 'the archives,' or the dusty rows of file cabinets located behind the glass partition in the back half of the floor.

Stan also didn't expend much energy beating around the bush once Eleanor had vanished out of thin air, although Mary expertly avoided his gaze, still trying to do something about her hair. From what she could see of it in the reflection from the window, it looked like it hadn't been brushed in about a week. A lot of pointless rummaging on her desk took place as she still attempted to keep Stan at bay, but she knew she was failing miserably. There was really no reason to hide, not when her boss probably knew everything and it wouldn't take him long to wrest the remainder of the truth out of his skittish inspector.

"Morning, kiddo…" he intoned in a deep voice, copying Eleanor only in words and not with inflection. Rapping his knuckles on the wooden top to make sure she was paying attention, "How are you?"

Mary could only muster a mildly contemptuous look, and was fairly certain she came off looking sleepy rather than irritated since she was more the former to begin with.

"I think you know how I am," she grumbled, absentmindedly sliding a pen back and forth through her fingers.

"Well, I know how you were last night," Stan admitted. "If Marshall can be counted on to tell the truth, anyway."

"You know he can," the woman scoffed, aware that someone as noble as Marshall lying was practically a sin.

"Then, I know you were _pretty_ steamed," he confirmed with a long, rocking roll on the balls of his feet, his eyes shifting upward as he dragged out the word 'pretty.' "Aren't you still?"

Mary wasn't known for letting go of a grudge, and so Stan's assumption that she was still harboring any bitterness was perfectly understandable. But, everything she'd felt on Thursday evening seemed to have trickled slowly out of her after Melissa's tantrum. While she'd been going to bat for her daughter during every conflict with Marshall, in the aftermath it felt like the person she'd really been standing up for was herself – her wishes, her thoughts, her methods. Yes, all those things were on behalf of Missy, but more and more she felt it wasn't really the child who she'd wanted to benefit. She'd wanted Marshall to see things her way, to see that she was a good mother and a good wife, since he obviously didn't know one way or the other.

"I don't really know what I am now…" she told Stan. "Tired. I do know I'm tired."

"Marshall didn't exactly get a good night of sleep either," he informed her. "Either because of his leg or…you know…whatever was on his mind…" a shrug. "I don't know. But, I heard him tossing and turning well after midnight…"

"Is he okay?" for as mad as she'd been at him, Mary did still worry. "I mean, this morning, was he okay?"

"Quiet," Stan revealed. "But, all right. He's still at the house; he said he wanted to come into work, but I put my foot down…"

"Thanks for that," Mary whispered. "I want to see him, but…I don't know whether I'm up for it at the same time…" Here, she rubbed both of her eyes with her fingers, trying to regain some clarity, to give some sort of plausible explanation for why they'd both invaded his home life without warning. "Well, there's no guarantee he'll be interested in talking to me anyway, so…"

"Mary, he said he _tried_ to talk to you," and the woman didn't doubt that; what surprised her more was that Stan was inserting himself into their marital discord. He continued on in a very neutral, impartial voice, "But that…I don't know…you didn't really want to listen…"

"I just wanted to make him understand…" she groaned, now with a hand on her forehead, pushing her bangs out of the way. She hoped Stan knew what the argument had entailed, because they were doing a decent job talking around the specifics. "Everything with him since the accident has been this uphill climb…"

"I know it seems that way," Stan agreed. "But, sometimes, you can't _make_ someone understand," using her own words, which sounded more demanding when repeated back to her. "You can't _make_ anyone do anything…"

"But, I didn't used to _have_ to make him," Mary was afraid she was going to get riled again, but her insistence merely came out sounding sad and defeated. "We were one mind, and now it's like he doesn't care if every negative thing he ever thought about me is out in the open. And, we are polar opposite on what to do about Melissa…"

"Kiddo, he just doesn't remember how you are about Missy…"

A sudden thought occurred to Mary, and if she was going to look for tips on how to improve her being, she might as well do it now when she was feeling even remotely receptive.

"And, how am I?" it was important not to sound aggressive, but curious. "I mean, you said 'how I am about Missy.' So, how am I?"

"Well, you know; you're protective…" Stan tried for the abbreviated version, but the blonde wanted more.

"No, not the Cliff Notes, old man…" she said this without recalling that her chief seemed to be more sensitive about his age lately, but fortunately he didn't seem to take offense. "I want to know how _you_ see me – not as a person, as a mom."

The exhale as he stuffed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet was to be expected. Mary had come to think of it as his 'pondering' pose, because he so often took this stance when he was thinking hard. Still, she was encouraged that he had fallen into that posture because that meant he wasn't going to evade her questions. Maybe if he thought he could play mediator between Mary and Marshall then they would patch things up faster – maybe he just cared enough about them to want to help. It was probably both.

She had stopped rotating the pen in her hand and was now chewing on the cap, which was much the same as chewing on her thumbnail, a bad habit she had never been able to shake. Still though, when she stopped and thought about it, she really didn't think Stan would say anything that would set her off. Almost everything designed to hurt her had already been said in the last two days.

"Well, Mary…"

Before he went on, she was struck by how much he sounded like Marshall when he began a sentence in such a way. They'd been around each other far too long, picking up each other's nuances.

"When I look at you with Missy, I think you are constantly working _so_ hard at being her mom – sometimes too hard…"

She could feasibly shrug this off. She'd been hearing since she was small that she tended to go overboard in many areas of life.

"…And, that doing the right thing, acting the right way, living the right way, is a huge factor in all the decisions you make – sometimes too huge…"

There was a theme running through this speech.

"…Don't confuse the 'right' thing with the 'normal' thing, because that's not what I mean. I don't think that, until recently, you were ever willing to downsize all the people in Melissa's life so she could blend in with the crowd; your priority was her happiness, and that always won out, even if you had nagging doubts from time-to-time about the whole 'three stooges' bit…"

Here, she had to smirk, and it felt slightly foreign, but nice at the same time.

"…But, given everything that you've been handed as far as Marshall is concerned, I think you're starting to question a plan that, up until now, has worked wonderfully for everyone involved…"

A plan that included a trio, not a single – a plan with no aunts, uncles, grandmothers, and especially no fathers.

"I think you thought with me and Mark and Marshall all in the mix that Missy could never lose because, even if something happened to one of us, she had two others – not to mention you – waiting in the wings…"

And, that had been foolish because one didn't replace another, but Mary knew that Stan was right.

"I think you savored the security in that because, from the very beginning, your biggest goal was to never have Melissa suffer the way you suffered – to never be alone like you were…"

Because of James. Even in her fierce desire to reverse the effects for Melissa, she'd created an equally treacherous world. More people to love meant even more people to lose.

"I have never, not once, doubted how much you love the captain…"

This produced another grin.

"You need her as much as she needs you, and nine times out of ten there's nothing wrong with that – she's still a little girl. But, I think…"

This was the first time he hesitated, probably because he knew what the main topic of she and Marshall's showdown had been, and he didn't want to fan any flames. But, Mary was prepared for his contribution and, as a result, had no qualms about hearing the whole ugly truth.

"…I think you need to let her spread her wings – let her fall and teach her how to pick herself back up. If I know her like I think I do, she'll learn fast how to rely on herself when she needs to…" With a twinkling, warm brown gaze, "Any kid of yours is ingrained with the will to fight."

And, it amazed Mary that she never considered before now what a fighter Melissa really was. For a woman who constantly touted how her little girl had overcome the odds and flourished when she'd very nearly fit in the palm of her hand as an infant, she sure didn't fall back on that logic these days. That Mary wouldn't have a child who was a 'bruiser' in any way, shape, or form was remarkable – perhaps Brandi's boy would live up to his title. That would be a nice slice of irony for everyone.

Stan must not have known if he was in the doghouse or in the clear since Mary had not said anything one way or another. No doubt fearing an inspector who was famous for becoming testy at the drop of a hat, he hurried to make it known that his word was nothing close to the gospel.

"…Don't mistake what I'm saying here…" he stammered, and Mary could see sweat forming on his brow. "…Whatever hindrances Melissa has come up against, she is damn lucky to have you as her mom. Everybody knows you do what you do because you're crazy about her; nobody wants her to get hurt…"

"I know that…" she interjected softly, just so Stan would know she was not adverse to his advice.

"Well, I know it's hard to bear it in mind when you're at odds, but try to remember that when it comes to Marshall…" he encouraged. "Memory or no memory, you've always been his best girl. He's trying to do what he thinks is best for Melissa."

Ignoring his last statement, the blonde found herself centering on the earlier portion – the part about Mary being her husband's 'best girl.' It had a nice ring to it, she couldn't deny, and she loved the idea. And yet, there had never been a time when she'd actually thought such a thing. She'd been too dense, or else too afraid, to recognize what Marshall had felt for her for so long. Then, once they'd gotten together and had a family, it had never been just the two of them like it had when they were mere partners.

And so, she turned her eyes upward to meet Stan's and said, "You're wrong about one thing."

Since she had been so mellow, the man chanced a joke, "Only one?"

"Hard to believe, I know."

"Well, what one thing am I wrong about?"

A selfish part of her was pained to admit it, but maybe saying it out loud anyway made up for that feeling.

"I'm not his best girl." And, when Stan looked bewildered, she murmured, "Melissa is." An uncomfortable fluttering in her stomach forced her to finish, "Or, was."

Stan consented to nod, hands still in his pockets, but he obviously had nothing to dispute this. This must mean it was Mary's turn to give a drawn-out dialogue, as he had just done for her. She wasn't sure how far she would make it, but it was slightly cathartic to be able to say what she was really thinking without additional drama piled on top. She didn't want to flash her claws anymore, and even though she knew she should be having this discussion with Marshall, she also knew Stan would do.

With her chin in her hand, Mary continued to look at her boss, but also look through him at the same time. His short stature faded the longer she spoke, the longer she became lost in a past that seemed to be losing color as well.

"I miss that look I used to see on his face every time he was with her…" the one where his eyes shone so vibrantly it was like they weren't his eyes, but two jewel-bright pale sapphires. "…Like his life was complete – like there was nothing in the world he could possibly want as much as what he already had."

What must that be like? Mary had never felt that way, and wasn't sure she ever would. What was it about the human race that had them constantly needing more? Even when they didn't know what 'more' was. What made Marshall so unique that he could be so immeasurably satisfied by a child that wasn't even biologically his and a wife who did nothing but rail on him, in jest or not?

"He doesn't look like that anymore…" it hurt, and yet Mary didn't feel the bitter sting of tears as she had so often these days. "I've seen the happiness, but it's like he's…I don't know…" She wasn't sure this was the real difference, but she said it nonetheless, "…Like, at best, it can be…_fun_. It was so _beyond_ fun, before…" at a level higher than Mary could fathom. "It was like he could fly when she held his hand…high as a kite…"

She thought of how Marshall had been the first person to see Missy, how he had named her and stroked her soft, unspoiled skin, had vowed he would never forget her even if Mary had given her up for adoption. Always, he had been the one who had held faith, and it was because of his stanch conviction that the woman hadn't been able to give up on her daughter, not when she had someone so devoted by her side.

"And…now…" a sigh. "I don't know. I mean, here I thought I'd screwed things up badly enough with him, and it turns out I can go the extra mile. You would never believe what went down with Melissa this morning…"

The transition was abrupt, but Mary was done with anything heartfelt. Plus, it gave Stan a chance to respond, to not stand sedentary wondering if he was supposed to say something or not.

"What happened?"

"I'm not sure you want to know," the inspector chuckled sardonically, shaking her head. "You know, for the first time, it may be a blessing that Marshall's attachment to Melissa wasn't what it once was, because otherwise he would kill me for what I blurted out, and without even telling him…"

"What did you say? What happened?" Stan repeated, sounding more insistent now.

Going over the scene with this man couldn't possibly be as bad as the real thing had been, so Mary didn't spend a lot of time waffling, and just had out with it. She didn't quite look Stan in the eye when she confessed, but the words were what mattered.

"I told her that Mark is her father. She was coming at me from all sides, she's been saying for awhile now that not knowing is a sore point…I couldn't hold back; I just said it…"

She was babbling because she was afraid Stan was going to judge her and make her feel worse about something she had already been questioning from the second it had been out of her mouth. If and when Melissa had found out about her ancestry, Mary had imagined sitting her down with all three men and gently delivering the news. Everyone would've been present to answer any wonderings she might've had. Instead, she'd had to force it out of her mother as a last resort to help her believe Marshall would soon be back on her doorstep – and that had been incredibly unsuccessful.

But, to her bewilderment, Stan didn't look like this news was an enormous bombshell to him. There was a resigned sort of flash passing through his eyes, but he wasn't pointing fingers. Mary soon saw why that was.

"She asked me who it was a few days ago."

The woman was sure she must've heard wrong and leaned forward, "Come again?"

"She asked me – I didn't tell her!" he swore, which was unnecessary because there was no faking the kind of shock Missy had displayed that morning. "I told her it wasn't my place to speak up and that things like blood and DNA don't make a difference; it's love and loyalty and commitment that…"

"All right, stand down, chrome-dome…" Mary waved a hand in his face, knowing full well he was innocent. "When was this, anyway?"

"Sunday, when we stopped for ice cream after we'd been at the police station."

Mary tried to remember that day. She wracked her brains and was able to come up with a vision of Melissa skipping into the office, licking her cone, wearing her new khaki overalls splattered with pistachio. She hadn't seemed ruffled in the least – she'd even seemed happier than normal. At first, this didn't match up, but then Mary realized that this attitude had possibly come from the fact that Stan's reluctance to share pretty much eliminated him as her dad – not that the inspector really thought she'd ever believed that. Something deep inside always had to have known it was Marshall or Mark.

When she didn't reply to the chief's confession, he hastened to figure out how things had gone down after the dust had settled.

"How did she take it? The Mark thing?"

Mary was blunt, "Not well. She was already wound tighter than a spring and this just sent her into a careening nosedive." Then, deciding she might as well go all the way, "She destroyed her dollhouse."

"Man…"

"I don't know that she's really that upset that it's Mark, or more upset about the fact that it isn't Marshall."

"Well, I'm sure she'd like to keep him as close as possible, and without that connection…"

"You might as well have been there," Mary inclined her head in a slight bow, praising his instincts. "Because, that's exactly what she thinks. She thinks he'll never be back now."

It was entirely possible that Stan was going to say that he believed Marshall would return, someday, even if it was on a temporary basis, but he got cut off when Mary's cell phone rang. It was a surprise that she managed to hear it, because in her stupor she had forgotten to take it out of her bag when she'd arrived that morning. Bending down to pull it out of its pocket, she glanced at the number and immediately let out a loud groan. Digits that would've been unrecognizable a few days earlier had become gallingly familiar.

"It's her damn school again…" Mary huffed. "This is the third time they've called me in two days!"

"What do you suppose they want?"

"I don't know…" a growl as the phone continued to jangle and light up. But, inspiration suddenly struck, "Oh, maybe I do…" a second moan, because it was the last thing she wanted to deal with. "Melissa's teacher left a message on our machine last night about putting her in a gifted class and they're really pushing to get her enrolled if we agree, but I didn't send the forms; they're probably calling again to harass me about it…"

"Do they know about everything going on?" Stan questioned, hand on his hip.

"No…" and Mary was beginning to realize that having stayed mum for over a week just because her daughter had asked her to was stupid. "Although, for how much longer…" she didn't finish her thought and became determined to answer so she wouldn't have another message to return. "I better talk to them."

"Of course."

Hitting the talk button and having to grit her teeth when it came to being polite, Mary closed her eyes briefly, trying to take herself to a place where she could focus on something as currently trivial as school. She was aware it was not inconsequential – in fact, when you considered the disturbance education and it's social aspects had caused in her house, it was positively urgent.

"This is Mary."

"Mrs. Shannon?" that much was obvious, and the flighty, youthful voice was commonplace by now. "I am so sorry to call again; this is Courtney Newman…"

No, shit.

"…I just thought that I should tell you…"

If Mary had been as consumed in the conversation as she would've liked, she would've noticed that the teacher had said 'tell' not 'remind' but she had already jumped ahead.

"Listen, I apologize for leaving those gifted forms to the last minute, but…"

"Oh, no…" Courtney cut her off purposefully. "No, I don't want you to concern yourself with that at the moment. I, um…" she hedged fleetingly, but got over her dithering quickly. "I…I don't usually reach out to the parents for every minor problem, but I think…"

Mary was listening harder now, not unlike the way she had done the day before (had it really only been a day?) when she had eventually learned Missy's glasses had been stolen. Could this be worse than that?

"…I think it might be helpful if you would talk to Melissa – just on the phone, just for a few minutes. She seems to be having a very hard time this morning, and in light of what happened yesterday…" Mary's breathing hitched before she realized she was simply talking about Owen. "…It's understandable, and she's such a good girl; she never asks for anything, but…"

"Did she say anything?" in spite of Missy's sudden yearning to have a father, the mother couldn't help thinking it would really be nothing but trouble for her to broadcast the results to the entire second grade. "Did she say anything about what was wrong, or…?"

"No, nothing specific," Miss Newman reported. "I tried to speak to her, and then I tried to have her speak to the school counselor when I had to return to class, but…"

A counselor? Oh, boy. Where was Finkel when you needed her?

"All she would say was that she missed you."

"Me?" Mary choked out, unable to believe it. "She asked for me?"

"Yes," the other verified. "I think just a few words might make her feel better…"

But, the inspector suddenly felt a surge of power that she hadn't possessed in sometime. Maybe she was getting her second wind, or maybe she was finally accepting that she was the one in charge. For as easygoing and mature as Melissa was on most days, letting her pick and choose her information – from her father to when she went to school – had to end today. Acting thirty-five didn't mean you could suddenly embody traits such middle-aged women held. Her daughter was eight – a little girl. A little girl who needed her mother.

"I'd like to come and pick her up and take her home," Mary declared in the midst of Courtney's suggestion. "I'll sign her out; she won't be back for the rest of the day."

A decision felt good, even a small one.

Fortuitously, the teacher did not fight her, "If that's what you would like, Mrs. Shannon. I will try to make a few moments when you arrive to speak with you; the children will be going to lunch by the time you get here. In the meantime, I'll send Melissa to the office."

"Thank-you."

And Mary could not hang up fast enough.

XXX

**A/N: In spite of Melissa's meltdown at school, I promise this was supposed to look like a good thing – she's going home where she needs to be. Thanks so much to those who continue to read and review.**


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N: Let's hope things are looking up for Mary, Marshall, and everyone else!**

XXX

It was the first time in recent memory that Mary stepped through the double doors at the elementary school and didn't immediately experience a trickle of fear. She didn't smell the smoke or the scent of ash mixed with sprinkler water. She didn't feel the warmth of the flames licking her skin, nor did she sense the dark walls closing in as she stood powerless in the kitchen's basement. There were other odors she discerned – eraser dust, maybe, and crayon wax mingling with burned hot dogs from the cafeteria. Truth be known, she was sweating slightly, but the space in her car had grown stuffy as she drove over. But, it seemed that the way to relinquish terrors that had been in place for eight years was to replace them with a new one – Melissa slipping away.

Mary couldn't be sure of what her daughter had done, how she had acted, to make Miss Newman think she needed to place a phone call to the home front. Had she burst into tears at her desk? Had she refused to work and the teacher had deemed this so suspicious she'd felt the need to find out what was wrong? Had she run off, gone the whole nine yards and hit another child in hopes of fulfilling Marshall's 'stand up for yourself' mantra? Once upon a time, Mary would've deemed all of these next to impossible, but she was beginning to think nothing would surprise her anymore.

And so, she strode through the entryway, the cinderblock walls lined with the same fall artwork that had been there when she and Marshall had come for the meeting with Mrs. Hodges. The oranges and yellows and browns blended together, making Mary feel as though she were trapped in some sort of leafy tent. The office up ahead, glassed-in on the front, showed the secretary's desk and the secretary herself, but no one else seemed to be around. A distant babble of voices sounded from the cafeteria, meaning some students were indeed having lunch already.

The lights were brighter and harsher inside the office, and the receptionist immediately glanced up at Mary's presence. The inspector wondered vaguely if she remembered her; the outburst she had-had in the principal's office probably wasn't too easy to forget. If she did, however, she pretended not to.

"Yes, can I help you?" she asked politely, setting down her pen to give Mary her full attention.

"I'm here to pick up my daughter. She's in second grade – Melissa Shannon."

Sympathy spread over the secretary's face at once and she actually smiled at Mary, something she was not expecting. However, she suddenly remembered how friendly Missy used to be before Marshall's accident, how she could make friends with just about any adult because she was so witty and clever. That seemed a long time ago now.

"Missy's waiting in Mrs. Hodges' office…" she informed the mother, and even though there was nothing ominous about the way she said it, Mary still felt a sense of foreboding. "Her teacher should be down shortly; she wanted to speak to you before you left."

The blonde already knew this, and was going to hasten toward the door located behind the receptionist's desk where Melissa was presumably lingering – alone with the principal, no less. But, before she could motor around the table and head back, the other woman reached out and touched her arm. Mary stopped in her tracks, waiting for whatever she was going to say, and all she saw when she looked back at her was more compassion – soft eyes, pitying smile, even her head tilted to one side.

"Mrs. Shannon, I…" even though she seemed to be an expert at projecting concern, apparently it was still hard to get the right words out. "…I was so sorry to hear about your husband."

Mary tried not to panic, but it wasn't easy. Given that Melissa had mentioned Owen's knowledge of Marshall's accident, she had to wonder what else people knew, or thought they knew. She didn't especially want a lot of false rumors flying around; the truth was bad enough.

And so, she tried to go with an offhand response, "What about my husband?"

Maybe this would give her a clue as to what the secretary believed; if it was anything along the lines of what that Owen had spouted, there would be a lot of damage to undo.

"Well…I was sorry to hear about his accident – hit by a car head-on?" Before she waited for Mary to confirm, she shook her head sadly and said, "He's fortunate to be alive, but to not remember so much after the fact; it must be so confusing for him…"

"Who told you that?" Mary interrupted, frankly stunned that whoever was spreading gossip had got their facts straight.

"Melissa…" she revealed in a low voice. "Just now."

"_Melissa_ told you?"

A small part of Mary was miffed that her daughter had covered this task when she had been begging to inform someone at the school of their predicament for days. Why had she confessed now? Maybe she'd had to; maybe however upset she'd been had indicated something larger going on, and she'd spilled the beans to explain herself. That would make sense.

But, for now, the inspector got back to the conversation at hand, wanting to end it quickly.

"Yes, she told me while she was waiting for you to get here, and then I sent her back to Mrs. Hodges…" she nodded toward the door behind them. "Poor little thing; this must be so difficult for her."

An influx of mercy wasn't something Mary typically appreciated, but it didn't bother her too much in this instance. It was better to accept the condolences and move on if she wanted to see her daughter before school was out.

"Well, I…I appreciate…" She was going to say 'sympathy' and then changed her mind, "…What you said," she finished. "We're getting along okay, but…" She would let Missy needing to be released from school before noon speak for itself. "Some days are harder than others."

"I can only imagine," the other echoed. "Well, I…I won't keep you…" she must've noticed Mary's anxiousness to get moving. "But, I hope you know that the thoughts and prayers of everyone here are with you and your family."

This was a staggering statement and awfully broad for one person to make. Mary wondered if it could possibly be true. Adults could sometimes be more understanding than children, but she still didn't like the idea of Marshall's condition circulating among the staff. Missy didn't need additional attention, which was probably why she had wanted to keep things quiet in the first place.

But, instead of saying this, Mary simply nodded, "Thank-you."

Figuring that the receptionist's nod in return was her sanction to head back to the principal's office, Mary walked on without another word and saw that the door located at the back of the office that housed Mrs. Hodges was open slightly. A gentle scritch-scratch sound was coming from inside, and when Mary got close enough, she saw that Mrs. Hodges was as large and threatening as she'd been the first time Mary had met her, even when she was looking down at the paper on her desk.

The lines around her eyes and nose were just as tense and tight as Mary remembered, her dyed-blonde hair still in its bun on the top of her head. The great wooden desk she hid behind concealed most of her form, but her hands were massive as they gripped the writing utensil, her eyes boring into the page in front of her.

But, she really had no patience to spare for someone like Regina Hodges, and the sight of her was really more annoying than infuriating, which meant Mary trusted herself not to stir anything up. Besides, the individual that the inspector had come for in the first place had just been sighted. Melissa was sitting in a chair against the wall opposite the principal's desk, just inside the door.

In a single look, Mary could see that her little girl was just as drained as she was. The need to struggle and scrape her way back to security had been whooshed out of her, just as it had been whisked out of Mary. There had been so many fights, so many disagreements, so many days where both had pleaded with the other to see, to understand, to believe that everything would be all right in the end. Neither wished to play games anymore; both needed to start over, start anew, and let the chips fall where they may.

Missy was curled up in the chair, her head tilted into her palm, and she was blinking at the carpet below. She looked neither sad nor angry, but exhausted. Her glasses were slipping down her nose, and Mary saw that she had worn the khaki overalls Jinx had given her, a style choice her mother hadn't gotten to witness before Mark had driven her to school. The shirt underneath was a turtleneck shaded in lavender, almost identical to the one Mary had on, although hers was more plum. The fact that they had been synced in something, even something minor, made the mother feel better.

And, she finally knocked on the open door, her knuckles making a loud rapping sound that rent the air like bullets.

"Melissa?"

Both principal and student looked up at the sound, but only one left her seat. Melissa unfurled herself from her catlike position, pattered over on tiny feet – not a run, but a brisk walk – and without saying a word held out her arms. She needn't have done because Mary was already there, hoisting her up onto her hips with a groan that came from realizing it was like hitting rock bottom to land at this moment.

She expected tears, a release of pressure in some way, but none came. She felt Missy lean her head on her shoulder, arms wound tightly around her neck. And, Mary simply held her. She didn't ask for anything else, nor did she speak for several minutes, and it was during that time that Mary realized how nice it was just to _be_. To not beat any topic to death, to not force someone to see the rainbow in the distance, to not try so hard to fix everything that was broken; sometimes another person's touch was all you needed. Marshall, in his original state, and Melissa herself had taught Mary long ago that outward affection wasn't nearly as bad as she'd always thought.

The little girl was stronger and gripped harder than Mary would've believed, and when she had held her aloft long enough, she rubbed her back, feeling the crisscross of her overall straps and the softness of her shirt. Her hair was in a beautiful, sleek, shiny ponytail, something Mary couldn't understand when it had been a rat's nest during their tiff earlier. It must've been Mark – Mark, who always wanted his daughter to be groomed.

And, they both must've been thinking the same thing, and it was Melissa who got the words out first.

"Will Mark forgive me?"

Her voice was small, slightly ashamed, but devoid of any tears.

Mary didn't want to speak for anybody, but she felt certain, "Yes, he will," she patted her hair from behind.

"Do I have to call him dad now?"

She was beginning to wonder if Mrs. Hodges was catching all this. She decided she didn't care.

"No, you don't."

"What will I call him?"

"Mark, like you always did."

"Even if Marshall doesn't come back?"

"Even then. You will have me and Mark and Stan – and Brandi and Jinx and Eleanor…"

"And Peter."

"Yes, and Peter too," a hint of a smile; this time, she tugged her ponytail just slightly. "I know none of them replace Marshall. I know you miss him terribly. I miss him too."

"Does he still love you?" this came in a whisper, like she was suddenly realizing they were being watched.

It suddenly wasn't so hard to admit the truth either – at least not in an embrace like this one.

"In a way, yes. I think he does," after all, he always had in some capacity. "Whether it's like he used to, I don't know. Time will tell."

"I would feel so bad for you if he didn't anymore, mom. I know he's your best friend."

Relative calm might've washed over both of them, but that didn't stop a lump from forming in Mary's throat at hearing this. She ought to have known that Melissa's agony wasn't just for herself, but for her mother. An unhappy parent so often equaled an unhappy child, and Mary hadn't given her anything to rejoice about lately. She had to know how much Mary's life would be altered without Marshall in it and that bled over into her own, in addition to the loss she would personally suffer if her step-father up and vanished.

But, the woman was able to swallow past the knob because, after all, they'd been doing so well without their usual side helping of thespian performances.

"Well, he's kind of yours too, isn't he?" Mary reflected, caressing her back a little harder. "I sometimes forget that," meaning, that she'd misplaced a parent as well as a friend. "But, you know…sweets…" things took an optimistic turn. "…If you're lucky, maybe he won't be your _only_ friend like he was mine for so long."

And, without waiting for her to ask what she meant by this, the blonde pulled away, really looking at her daughter for the first time since she'd arrived. Her eyes were dry, but droopy behind her glasses, no doubt borne out of lack of sleep. Mary knew she couldn't be looking so hot either, but brushed that aside and laid a kiss on Missy's cheek. She rubbed the wet spot away with her hand and Mary smiled.

"Did they tell you you're going home?" she posed, wondering what sort of reaction this would receive if she hadn't been given a head's-up.

But, she said, "Yes," and no protest went along with it.

"Okay, well, I'd better sign you out then; I know Miss Newman wanted to talk to me first, but she has my number…"

Before Mary could make an escape, though, there was the sound of a chair running across nubby carpet behind them, and she turned around to see Mrs. Hodges standing up, looking more daunting than usual when she was on her feet.

"Actually, I wondered if I could have a word," she requested, sounding stately. "Just with you, Mrs. Shannon, if you don't mind. Courtney may not be able to get away from her class, and I can fill her in on what we discussed."

It certainly could not be debated that Miss Newman did indeed have a roomful of students to attend to, especially if they weren't at lunch yet, and in any case, Mary didn't want to disrupt too much of her eating time. Nonetheless, the prospect of being alone with Regina wasn't exactly enthralling. She wasn't interested in hearing about how Melissa was a baby, and how still allowing her to stumble around and get in fights was unacceptable and that Mary would do better to correct her oddities rather than instilling some tolerance in the rest of the second grade. If the prior meeting was any indication, this was definitely the speech she was going to get.

But, because she knew it would be rude and childish to leave and deny the principal her opportunity to impart her authority, Mary resigned herself to sticking around.

"Sure…" she tried to sound nonchalant as she slid Melissa to the floor. "Right." Turning to her child, "Go wait in one of those chairs in the office, okay? I'll just be a minute."

Missy squeezed her hand lightly before departing, with a faint look in her eye that she didn't want to be left alone too long, but went ahead as instructed, closing the door behind her. It made a resounding thud as it swung into its hinges, a sure sign that it was separating Mary from the rest of the school; she was trapped.

For several seconds, both women were quiet. Mary had no reason to speak, since she didn't know what Regina wanted to tell her, and so she crossed her arms over her chest and waited. The principal seemed to be vacillating, battling with herself about how to begin or, indeed, what to say at all.

Eventually, she got out, "You can sit down," she indicated a chair opposite her desk. "Or not."

"I was under the impression this wasn't going to take long," Mary answered stiffly. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, firstly…" now that the ball was rolling, Mrs. Hodges seemed keener to get on with the show. "Courtney called you because she sent Melissa to the restroom and when she hadn't seen her for twenty minutes she became concerned. She found her crying in a stall and she refused to come out."

Evidently, Missy's defiance hadn't quite evaporated by the time she'd gotten to school. Where it had gone in the time since, so that she could speak so rationally to Mary, was anybody's guess.

"When she did emerge, she wouldn't say what had her so upset, just that she wanted you. Courtney seemed to think she was remembering yesterday and the incident with Mr. Patterson," that must be Owen. "But, then she brought her to me because she had to return to teaching and she eventually admitted what was bothering her."

Regina's face was impassive, still fairly stony, and so Mary couldn't discern if she thought the reason Melissa had hidden was enough to justify having a fit. Judging by their previous conference, she didn't, but there was no way to know from looking at her.

When she spoke again, though, her words were the epitome of political correctness.

"My condolences about Marshall."

Still, Mary managed to find fault, "He didn't die. Aren't condolences for people who have died?"

"I suppose so," she claimed, still looking down her nose across the room. "Still…we were…unaware of what she was facing."

The rigidity in this statement seemed to suggest to Mary that, had the school known, they would've made accommodations. Initially, this riled her because Melissa had been dealing with kids poking fun at her long before Marshall had gotten hurt, and it shouldn't take a tragedy to make them open their eyes. On the other hand, she knew full well she had wanted to confess the truth to Miss Newman in particular, precisely because she'd wanted Missy to take full advantage of whatever adjustments were offered – understanding and leniency, for the most part.

"Yeah…" Mary replied, trying to construct what she was thinking into a coherent phrase. "…I saw the benefits to letting someone know, but Melissa thought it might pose a problem."

That was pretty good, the woman thought with a mental pat on the back. It said she hadn't wanted to keep things a secret, but given Melissa's already tenuous situation, to add more fuel to the fire would've been risky – in other words, it might've given her more reasons to look different.

Fortuitously, Regina seemed to understand what she was getting at, because she was surprisingly forthright in her next words. Although, Mary noticed she still didn't lose her inexpressive features, no doubt wanting to look tough and in charge.

"Yes, it would seem that Melissa is still having a tricky time interacting with her peers…" Mary was about to say that the 'trickiness' of the matter was not her daughter's fault, but she didn't get a chance. "I hope you were made aware that I handled the circumstances that occurred yesterday involving her and Owen Patterson…"

"I was aware you spoke to him…" the inspector proclaimed. "But, honestly, I wasn't sure whether you would punish him or give him a high five."

This was a dangerous game she was playing, but she didn't want to go back-and-forth in this strained, faux-polite atmosphere forever. It was time to put up or shut up, and Mrs. Hodges clearly knew that as well.

"Confidentiality permits me from telling you what consequences we have assigned a student," this was legal lingo. "But, rest assured there were no 'high fives.'"

"Well, I guess I'll have to take your word for it."

"If her glasses are no longer wearable, we can work out some sort of deal to help with the cost…"

This threw Mary off track, mostly because she would think it was generous if it were coming from anyone other than this woman. What was more, in spite of the fact that she didn't approve of the way Mrs. Hodges ran her school, she really wasn't to blame for Owen being a brat.

"Well…her…her glasses aren't broken…" Mary was honest, weakening just a little in their stare-down. "She's due for a new pair anyway, so don't worry about that."

"I wouldn't want you to think we left her impaired from the incident in any way…"

Again, this was getting a little too professional sounding, and so Mary cut to the chase, "Why don't we dispense with the pleasantries?" she came off more her old self with such a question. "Do you really care what happened to Melissa, or are you just trying to cover your ass so the school board doesn't come sniffing around?"

A flush rose in Regina's high cheekbones at the use of a swearword, not the least of which what had come with it. But, even as she pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes for half a second at Mary, the other woman was pretty sure a defense wasn't coming. She had been reading people for a long time now – criminals among them – and she recognized that Mrs. Hodges' preamble came from delaying an apology she knew she needed to make.

And, as if she knew she had been found out, the red left her face and she sighed, her bosom heaving as she did so.

"Mrs. Shannon, I would like to keep my job for longer than a year, and it has come to my attention that if I am going to do that, my approach toward both parents and students needs to be changed."

So few people ever admitted that they were wrong, at least in Mary's experience. Yet, the last person she thought would be owning up to her mistakes was about to come clean right in front of her.

"I want to apologize for how I behaved in our last meeting…" for some reason, the blonde could tell she was genuine even though her voice was flat and rehearsed-sounding. "It is not for me to judge your personal life. I still think it would give Melissa a much bigger advantage in her social skill set for her to be allowed to mingle with children with whom she has more in common…" that meant the gifted program. "…Which is not to say that I am waving away the actions of those who have bullied her…"

Mary still had doubts about whether this was true, but the rest of the speech was so pleasantly shocking that she was willing to overlook that part.

"If you would like another conference, more information about transitioning Melissa if you are still hesitant, I would be willing to set that up…" all of a sudden, she was willing to do anything. "In the meantime, I am more embarrassed about how I diminished the way you have chosen to conduct your life."

Here, she paused, which gave Mary some time to mull over everything she had said. It was still a little hard to believe this wasn't an act, put on only so Mrs. Hodges could stay employed, but then part of the reason the change of heart had occurred came to light.

"I had never spent much time with Melissa prior to yesterday…" her tone suddenly dropped and it sounded more natural, less obligatory. "I had convinced myself that she was being disregarded or passed from home-to-home with little stability…"

Those information forms that she had pulled out during their previous meeting suddenly flashed through Mary's mind, and she recalled all the names listed there – Mary, Marshall, Mark, Stan, Jinx, Brandi, Peter – along with the fact that the word 'father' had been crossed out. Though she still thought the way the principal had gone about it was off the mark, she began to see where a certain amount of skepticism would creep in.

"…But, after being able to talk with her, both yesterday and today, I see that-that is not the case – or, at least it wasn't prior to Mr. Mann's unfortunate accident."

Mary had to wonder what her daughter had said that was so convincing, but was sure she'd never find out.

"You have clearly built a wider, broader home for your child and it is obvious to me that she finds comfort and safety in all the individuals she thinks of as family," the inspector was hopeful that was still the case, even the way things seemed to have been split in two as of late. "It is not my place to deem that right or wrong."

It was feasible she was done after this, because she swallowed, but then Mary saw her open her mouth again and decided she'd better wait before responding. Regina had obviously planned what to say, and it was only fair she get it all out.

"I hope you will permit me a brief explanation…" explanations could sometimes be excuses, but Mary listened anyway. After a deep breath, she began again, "I was very fond of my own father as a young girl, and was much closer to him than I was to my mother…"

Mary hadn't expected a life story, but after falling all over herself to say she was sorry, she did authorize her with the opportunity to share. It might shed some light, after all.

"…My parents divorced when I was twelve and I lived with my mother; after they split up, I wasn't allowed to see my father anymore…"

It was like a distorted, mirror-image version of Mary's own childhood, with obvious exceptions.

"Years later, I learned that it was at her insistence that he not be in contact with me because she had met someone else. She remarried my step-father barely a year later and pushed for me to refer to him, in name and otherwise, as my dad."

And now the tale mocked Missy's youth, but in a much darker way.

"I refused for a long time, and knew for many years that my actual father was trying very hard to stay in touch with me, but my mother was fairly ruthless in keeping him away. I only saw him a few times a year," she didn't explain how or why her mother been so determined to push him out, but Mary supposed it didn't matter. "Eventually, my dad gave up and my memories of him faded. My step-father, despite my rejection of branding him as family, was actually a very nice man, and I was lucky that way…"

Mary was hoping that the end was near and, fortunately, Mrs. Hodges got back on track and looped the story around so it fitted the state of affairs at hand.

"Anyway…I should not have made assumptions, but when I first looked at Melissa's file, I couldn't help wondering what she was in for – who in her life might be replaced, who might be phased out, which man she was expected to devote herself to and which was supposed to keep his distance…" And, finally, she concluded, "I was incorrect on many counts, and I am sorry."

For the first time, Mary thought it might be her turn to say something. It was a lot to take in and even more to respond to; she wasn't sure she could cover all the bases. She did appreciate the show of remorse and was aware she should acknowledge it, but Regina didn't strike her as the type who wanted to beat a dead horse. Just looking at her behind her desk, Mary had been able to tell she had cajoled herself to get it all out, knowing it was the moral decision, but that it had been grueling every step of the way. She knew what it was to be a woman that didn't like to admit to her mistakes.

So, instead of nitpicking each detail, she took off from the ending and went from there.

"Well, it's not like I'm unfamiliar with skeletons in the closet…" she mused casually. "Or unresolved issues, mind you. My dad was a compulsive gambling bank robber that took off on me and my baby sister and my alcoholic mother when I was seven." Ignoring the shell-shock that fluttered in the principal's face, "So, I think you can decide for yourself what I'm trying to accomplish by packing Missy with dads on all sides."

And, miraculously, she thought she saw a hint of a smile in that smooth poker face, and although Mary didn't do the same, she made it clear just in her easygoing timbre that she could forgive. If she wanted Melissa to be where she belonged, she needed to play nice.

"Look…" she forced herself to take a step forward, to eliminate some of the distance between them. "I don't want to get stuck in history. What I do want is for Melissa to be where she is appreciated. Do you think if I sent the forms by Monday she could still get into the gifted class?"

Pride at making a choice mingled with melancholy that Marshall wasn't there with her to witness it. And, she'd done it not because he wanted her to but because, as Stan had said, it was time to spread their wings. Marshall had-had to start fresh when he'd lost eight years of his life, and now Melissa was going to get her shot. Boys and aunts and baby cousins were great for companionship, but she needed more, whether it made her different or not.

Looking a little alarmed at the quick switch in gears, Mrs. Hodges still recovered well enough and agreed with a nod of her head.

"Yes, that would be fine; she won't start until after Halloween anyway, so that would give her time to meet the teacher and the other students," a grace period of sorts. "It is just for an hour or so a day; she will still be with Miss Newman the majority of the time, so I do hope we can come to some sort of understanding with the other children in the class about how to treat her respectfully…"

"If you think it would help…" Mary was on a roll, but stopped herself before she got too far ahead of herself, thinking through what she was about to say. "I mean…I'd need to talk to Melissa first, but if you think it would help to share…" This was a big leap, but if the little girl could take the plunge, so could Mary. "…If it would help to share how she came to be the way she is – she was born early and sick for the first several months of her life – then…I mean…"

Her offer tapered away, but it seemed Regina understood where she had been going. Mary hadn't forgotten the proposition put forth by Courtney in their original meeting about teaching acceptance with the truth. It could very well be that the students isolated Missy because they simply didn't understand her. The facts could begin the road to approval.

"You discuss it with her…" the principal said, meaning the second grader. "And see if she would be comfortable with it. I will talk to Courtney and see what she thinks as well."

"Great," Mary said, wondering when the last time was that she'd uttered something so positive and felt that way as well. "If…if that's it, then I'll just grab Missy and head out…"

Even after the barriers had been broken, the inspector had to wonder if she would witness some kind of disapproval for taking Melissa out of school before lunch had even begun. But, it seemed the bad blood was slowly trickling away for both.

"I hope she has a relaxing afternoon," it was the kindest Mary had heard her yet. "When she told me what had happened to Marshall, I was floored that she hadn't missed a day of school since."

Mary thought of how proud her daughter would've been to hear that, because learning really was so important to her, a trait ingrained almost since birth by Marshall himself.

"Well, she's a tough kid."

And, when she remembered roller skates and scraped hands and bleeding elbows and twisted glasses, she realized how true that assertion was.

"About as tough as they come."

XXX

**A/N: Thank-you so much to anyone who is keeping up with this. I do so appreciate it.**


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N: Here's hoping this story is still even slightly interesting. I'm worried the drama turned some people off (understandably so,) or even that the tale just isn't that great. I promise I don't say that to garner any sort of undeserved praise; I have received an ample amount of extremely flattering reviews as the years have gone on, which I cherish. But, some stories are better than others and, personally, I never feel that my work is as great as others have, at times, said that it is. We are our own worst critics, I suppose, so I will continue to be grateful to anyone who is still reading or reviewing. **

XXX

As it turned out, Regina Hodges' wish that Mary and Melissa have a relaxing afternoon was one that came true. As neither had eaten lunch, they went through the drive thru at a fast food place and devoured hamburgers and onion rings the whole ride home, so that most of the food was demolished when they made it to the house. Neither one spoke very much, but it was a different kind of silence in that it wasn't as awkward. Missy seemed relatively content munching her burger, ketchup and mustard smeared across her chin. Just to make sure she wasn't too down, Mary entertained her by wearing the onion rings on her fingers and even hanging one from her nose, which resulted in a shower of bready crumbs cascading into her lap.

Something about Melissa's demeanor didn't suggest she was being quiet as a method of avoidance, more that she was enjoying simply being with her mother without the need to discuss the varying changes that had occurred in both their lives. And Mary, who had never been one for a lot of chit-chat, was only too happy to bend to her unspoken request.

Full and heavy from a meal rich in fats, they went home to a still house, the mess in Melissa's room concealed by a closed door. They went back to the master bedroom, and for awhile they both slept, Mary unintentionally, sitting upright with the back of her skull against the headboard. Missy had dozed off while they'd been making idle conversation; her head nestled under Mary's arm. The woman soon followed suit, even though she knew she should get up and make the most of her afternoon off. But, it was pleasant and calming to be sequestered in the bedroom, just her and her little girl, the still-high winds lashing against the house, reminding her that they were safe and warm inside.

Mary woke before her daughter, but neglected to leave her side, working quietly on the bed on various items – the forms for the gifted program, to start, followed by office files. When she'd moved to get a better angle with her pencil, Melissa had fallen from her grasp, but snoozed on, curled on her side without even a pillow to anchor her. The peace created by the scene made Mary feel more in control, more normal, than she had in sometime.

It was around four o'clock that she heard the front door open and close, around the time Missy would typically be getting home from school. At first, Mary was cautious, not knowing who had come to call, but so many people had a key to her house that it wasn't overly alarming. She took a few minutes to finish what she was doing, paper on bended knee, before stuffing everything onto the bedside table to see who her visitor was.

Unfortunately, when she jostled the mattress, Melissa stirred, moaning and rolling over, no doubt unsure where she was or how she'd gotten there. Mary waited, one foot still forward, while she reoriented herself with her surroundings and was then faced with a squinting, disoriented little girl.

"Mom?" she wasn't wearing her glasses; she could've been Brandi, except the stomach was too small.

"Go back to sleep…" Mary whispered, even knowing she'd probably gotten enough to make up for whatever she hadn't gained the night before.

"I'm…hungry…" she squeaked with a big stretch, arms over her head.

"But, I gave you that horribly unhealthy lunch…" the blonde reminded her with a grin. "How can you still be hungry?"

"I don't know…"

But, she laid her head down after asking, like she wasn't sure she really wanted to make the effort to get up and eat. Watching her scoot herself closer to the head of the bed and find a pillow to relax on, Mary seized her opportunity while she had the chance.

"Stay in here and rest…" she instructed softly, not knowing who the guest was, but having a shrewd idea. "If you're really not tired, your book is still on the table…" she pointed toward the chapter novel Melissa had been looking at before crashing out. "I'm gonna go take care of a few things; I'll bring you some pineapple when I'm done, okay?"

Missy yawned, but didn't open her eyes and agreed, "Okay…"

Mary was fairly certain she was going to be asleep again by the time she got back, but that was just as well. She must need to power up if she was going down in the middle of an afternoon when she would usually be at school. It seemed there were many parties who had not caught enough winks in the previously uproarious evening.

Tiptoeing to the door, the woman slipped through the frame and shut it quietly behind her, glad that her daughter had listened to her suggestions and not tagged after her. Because, once she made it down the hall, she saw who was waiting for her and her guess had been right on the money. A peculiar sensation swelled in her belly at seeing him – something between trepidation and glee, with maybe even a dash of relief as well, if one could feel so many things at once.

Marshall was sitting on the couch, presumably trying to look at home; Mary was sure he would've remained standing and not made himself too comfortable if it hadn't been for his leg. Even so, he perched on the very edge of the sofa, his crutches leaning right beside him, almost like he was waiting for an important appointment.

"Hi…" Mary murmured, comforted that she could look at him and not feel at all irate.

"Hi…" he said back. "I…I hope its okay; I let myself in…"

"Yeah, it's fine…" his wife promised. "How'd you get here?"

"Eleanor had to leave the office early, so she gave me a lift. I'm starting to feel like I'm some wealthy individual being chauffeured."

Mary managed a light laugh; glad he was keeping things painless between them, although there was certain unease that still lingered. They hadn't seen or spoken to each other since their raging dispute and while it would be foolish to say either of them was letting it go, both were showing signs that they were committed to toning things down. Mary knew she was; she felt like she had turned over a new leaf, that she could approach the situation with a clearer mindset than she could've done the day before.

To display her readiness to give rational discussion a try, she took another few steps forward so she stood at the corner of the coffee table, but even once she was there she didn't know how to get things started. Though she'd just seen him the night before, it felt like it had been years. So much had happened since, even though twenty-four hours hadn't even passed.

"So…" Marshall ventured, clasping his hands together and nodding sedately at nothing in particular. Inspiration seemed to come to him a few seconds after, "I…I spoke to Stan earlier. He said you brought Melissa home from school. Is she okay?"

Mary wondered if she had ever been asked this question as much as she had in the last week. It was becoming as ordinary as 'hi' and 'how are you.' But, she knew Marshall meant well, and even sat down on the edge of the coffee table farthest from him, perhaps to indicate she wasn't going to run off.

"It's funny, but I'm not sure I know what 'okay' really means anymore," she kept smiling slightly and did what she could not to sound pompous, like his inquiry was dumb. "She's 'okay' in that she's not hurt and 'okay' in that she seems to be doing better than she was earlier. That's a start, huh?"

"Yes, I would say so," Marshall concurred. "What made you decide to pull her out for the day?" he, too, did not sound accusatory, merely wondering.

This was going to have to come up sometime, "Well, since we were none too subtle last night, she got wind of a lot of what we were saying, and it kind of bled over into this morning…"

"Stan mentioned something about that too," he was flexing his fingers now, probably so he'd have something to do with them, to feed what was probably mounting anxiety. "About…you know…" Mary didn't need him to elaborate, but decided she'd let him. "…The whole 'dad' thing."

Oddly enough, the woman was glad he already knew of this development. It saved her the trouble of repeating it and, judging by his face, he wasn't upset about her having disclosed such a monumental part of Melissa's existence to her. She figured it couldn't hurt to make sure, however.

"Are you pissed at me?" not the most poetic way to put it, but Marshall was used to her being crass.

"I suppose there's a time when I would've been…" he said without mention of her word choice. "Especially out of the blue like this was. But, perhaps this is the first time my illness – for lack of a better word – is proving to be a blessing in disguise. If you thought she needed to know about Mark now, then I trust you."

Mary knew he was right, that he would never be so benevolent about her telling Missy who her father was if he were really himself; they had all agreed many years ago that it would be done more delicately, and that was not how it had happened at all. But, she was grateful that she didn't have to win Marshall's approval back, and winged butterflies seemed to have burst into life in her belly at him complimenting her, even minimally.

"It's nice to hear you say that," she murmured, hoping she could return the favor. "That you trust me. It's good to know."

"I never meant for you to think that I didn't," this was as good as an apology; the actual 'I'm sorry' wasn't even necessary. "When it comes to Melissa or anything else – I never intended to imply that I thought I knew better…"

"Maybe you did know better," his wife declared, somehow finding it easy to do so all of a sudden. "I think I just didn't want to hear what you were telling me."

"Well…" Marshall bowed a humble head, modest as ever. "I would never claim to know all the secrets of parenting – even during the time that I actually _was_ a parent," Mary supposed he meant prior to the car wreck. "I think it is fair to say I went overboard during our many battles yesterday."

"You weren't the only one."

"No, but…" a shrug. "…Maybe we need to go to war a few times to get back in our groove – such as it was. I do seem to recall us having some heated fights back in the day; sometimes it cleared the air afterwards…"

"But, I should've listened to you, Marshall…" now that he was here, Mary wanted to make up for everything she'd put him through, and not just because she hoped he would return to their home, but because she knew she'd been in the wrong. "…Even if I thought you were off the mark, I should've respected you enough to give you the time of day. I mean, so many men would've just given up on a child they didn't know they'd fallen into after an accident like yours, and…"

"I would never do that," he interrupted seriously, his blue eyes hard, but tender at the same time. "I don't know what's going to happen with us, but you were my friend first, and I would never walk away from my best friend's child. I hope you know you can count on that."

"Well, I do now," the blonde acknowledged, glad to hear confirmation. "But…" This was where it was going to be hard to sound sincere and not like she was trying to defend her actions. "…I don't want you to think I have an excuse for railing on you the way I did, but do you think I could talk to you…" She should probably say about what, and she swallowed profoundly. "…About where I was coming from? It's tough for me that you don't remember, you don't understand…"

This wasn't all about her, she was well aware, but speaking to Mrs. Hodges that afternoon had reminded her how much the truth could aide appreciation. The only thing she could do was try, if Marshall would consent.

"I'd like to help you understand," she finished. "Not…_make_ you…" reflecting on Stan's wisdom. "But, help you."

Mary was pleased to see him spread his arms, "I'm all ears."

If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right, so instead of staying where she was on the furthest corner of the coffee table, she got up and moved to the couch. She didn't keep her distance on the opposite end either, but nudged herself right up in front of Marshall, her legs tucked under her. He was a mere foot away, his legs protruding over the edge and he leaned in when she came so near, obviously prepared to hear her out.

Mary had not entirely planned what she was going to say, but her time alone with the sleeping Melissa had left her a lot of time to think, and she hoped her jumbled feelings would form into something Marshall could relate to. It was so strange to think of describing something to him that he had lived, but if her goal really was to get him to understand then she needed to get past that.

Interlocking her fingers together, she balanced on the cushions with her fists in her lap, and used those beautiful, sparkling blue eyes to guide her through. That was one thing about Marshall that hadn't changed, and it was this realization that got her started.

"When Melissa was born, something happened to me…" it was surprisingly simple to begin in such a tranquil voice. "…It actually happened before she was born, in the hours before she was delivered. It's like something inside me broke, something I'd been straining to hold together ever since my dad had left…"

She felt almost positive Marshall would comprehend this, as he had known for years the sort of power James had held over her, and he nodded, inviting her to go on.

"I cried about everything and everywhere – all the time. It still amazes me that you never looked sideways at me, because I showed more emotion in that week than I had for the eight years we'd known each other."

Her husband smiled encouragingly here, without his teeth, which Mary read as another appeal to keep going.

"I cried for my mom, I cried for my dad, I cried when Melissa was born, I cried when Jinx came to visit, I cried because, physically, I hurt more than I could possibly describe to you. I cried about the adoption, I cried when I saw Melissa in the NICU for the first time, I cried when I found out Mark was flying in…"

Marshall's eyes widened just as little, like this was hard to believe, but she knew, somehow, that he didn't really doubt her.

"It was like there was this well that just continued to empty more and more by the day – all this sadness I'd had locked up inside from James ditching me…" this was only part of it, Mary knew, and the portion she really wanted the man to grasp was coming up. "But, the sadness went away, and then there was this overwhelming fear – I was afraid like I'd never been afraid before."

"Of what?" he chimed in for the first time.

"I had this three pound baby that could barely breathe, that was going to depend on me for everything – or so I thought," she obliged. "I'd spent my whole life telling myself it was my responsibility to shelter half the world – witnesses, Jinx, Brandi – but this was the only time it was actually true. I also felt this incredible amount of guilt for being in the fire…"

"I think that comes with the territory," Marshall figured.

"I felt like, before she even got here, I'd failed her. I wanted to do everything I could to do right by her in the future, and that included not leaving her when she was sick…"

A second nod followed this account, and Mary felt herself speaking a little faster, almost excited that he would have a handle on things by the time she was done.

"One thing led to another, and simply not abandoning her while she was ill became not abandoning her at all – or ever letting anything harm her the way the first eight weeks of her life did." To explain what she meant, she clarified, "She was in the hospital for almost two months; there was a time when they weren't even sure glasses would help her see, which scared the shit out of me…"

"It would me too."

"But, she grew and grew and grew and I just marveled at her – at how ordinary she was, how you could hardly tell there'd ever been anything wrong with her by the time she was two," a time skip was involved, but the woman didn't want the man to think she was going to go on and on. "Protecting what it had taken so hard to achieve – her being happy and healthy – became everything to me. Everything. And…" She might as well be wholly, totally honest. "I guess it still is."

Her heart told her to keep it up, that the more she said, the more likely it would be that Marshall would see things from her point of view. But, her head chastised her to call it quits, that what she had already laid out was quite enough for him to get the picture. Sitting back slightly so that she wasn't so close to his face, she tried to use her gestures to show him she was through for the moment – giving him the floor, so to speak.

And yet, the air seemed thick once Mary finished talking, not another sound among them, for Melissa was still in the bedroom, and probably still asleep. It was hard to know what to make of Marshall's expression. There was no reading him; his eyes were cool and smooth, blinking every few minutes. He wasn't caressing the new beard on his chin, nor were his eyebrows hunched together in the middle, like he was deep in thought. He looked as plain as could be, like they'd just been having an every day, regular discussion.

"Well, Mary…" he finally began placidly. "You know what's funny?"

This wasn't a question she could've anticipated. Nothing that she'd just told him was remotely amusing, so she wasn't sure where he was going. Nonetheless, he had listened to her, and so now she needed to listen to him – something she had done very little of since they'd begun to butt heads.

"What?" she hummed, waiting for the punch line to the riddle.

"There was a lot for me to forget after hitting my head – I mean, eight years is a long time."

"It is," Mary agreed shortly.

"But, there is something I should've remembered – something I had no excuse for forgetting – and yet I still can't believe I allowed it to slip my mind."

His wife pushed him forth, "And, what's that?"

He didn't mince words once she'd given him the green light, "That you will fight to the death and beyond to guard someone that you love – bury them in your foxhole until the mines stop blowing up, and even then you're the one who sticks your neck out of the ground first."

There was nothing untrue about this, but Marshall was so composed that Mary wasn't sure whether he was going to tell her being the savior wasn't the most important thing in the world, or whether he admired such a quality. There was no way to know, but she was lucky that he didn't make her wait for a verdict for long.

"I should've known that-that sort of mentality could only increase tenfold when it came to your own child."

"Yeah, but I don't know that…" she was going to attempt to show she could change this if necessary, but Marshall was already speaking over her.

"And, there's no reason I should expect or even want for that to be different – after all, it's the part of you I first fell in love with."

What must've been gorgeous, dazzling sparks erupted in Mary's chest, sprinkling her heart with light and a kind of radiance she could never put into words. Marshall might not have said the exact words she had so longed to hear since he'd driven to the brink and been pulled painstakingly back, but they were so close, and they were certainly enough for now. She knew his fondness was real, not uttered to keep the peace or to please her. The embers from the fireworks continued to pop even long after the woman managed to keep a straight face, to not show that she was as excited as she was underneath.

"I, um…I didn't know that…" she whispered, the ashes somehow constricting her throat. "Did…did you know it was actually me that confessed first? I mean, when we finally went down the whole 'love' route. It was me. I never thought it would be – I thought you'd get it out before me."

"Well, I was quite the coward about it for a long time," Marshall smirked. "So, I'm not too surprised. I'm sure at the time I was staggered, to say the least."

"I'm not sure; it's kind of blurry even for me now," this kind of reminiscing felt good, much less painful than when she had recapped the wedding. "We were sitting…"

And, when Mary looked down, she realized they were almost in exactly the same spots they had been in on that fateful August night, warm and muggy with rain not far away. The only difference was that Mary had been on the other end of the sofa, she was the one who was on the mend, and Marshall had been perched where she was now.

"Here…actually…" she pointed to the dents in the cushions between them. "It was my first day home out of the hospital after the fire, and you came to visit me after work. I was bored out of my mind, and frustrated because I was so exhausted even though I'd done absolutely nothing all day."

Marshall chuckled, "That sounds like you."

"And, I was mooning over pictures of my dad – trust me, you don't need details there…" she shook her head and waved an errant hand, casting the notion aside. "…And, I got all upset because all I wanted was to thank you for saving my life – you know, no biggie…"

Her light brand of sarcasm made her husband laugh, and that made her only too glad to go on.

"And…I just…got carried away…" that was the best account she had, still not knowing even now how she had managed to blurt out that fateful phrase. "…I said it…pretty soon you did too; I admit it was hard for me to shut you up once I jumped first."

"Yes, I imagine it would've been," the male inspector chortled. "I probably wanted to do it myself and chickened out."

"Well, it's hard to know how to deal with things like love sometimes…" Mary wasn't the most philosophical person around, but she was pretty sure she knew that much. "Especially when it's new – or, even if it just seems new. You're probably figuring that out when it comes to Melissa."

The smallest of shadows seemed to pass over his face when she mentioned her daughter. Something told her he'd been hoping not to touch on the little girl when things had been going so well. Thus far, anything having to do with Missy had resulted in a knock-out, drag-down fight, and Mary didn't want to go through that anymore than he did. But, righteous man that he was, he did not turn tail and root himself in avoidance. There would be no 'starting over' if he did.

"She is a remarkable girl, Mary…" his tone was deep and serious, his chin tipped downward. "I'm not just saying that; I think she's magnificent…"

She sensed a 'but' coming and opted to head him off instead, "Well, you don't have to say it even if you _do_ mean it. Your actions speak for themselves; no one can say you're not trying…"

"I'm worried that's the problem, though," he sighed. "I wish I were at a point where my efforts weren't so obvious; I think it would be easier for everybody. And, regardless of what I was preaching yesterday…" If possible, he looked even graver as he finished, "…I do trust your judgment; if you think it's better for Melissa to stay in the class she's in and keep her head down, then I'm not one to…"

"No, you are actually," the woman interrupted, realizing how imprudent her method had been when hearing it described in an endless string that way. "I needed the push, I think. When I went to pick Melissa up today, I asked her principal about the gifted program. Looks like she'll be joining in."

Marshall was quick to be dignified, "I hope it's not because of me."

"It's totally because of you," but, she grinned as she said it, showing him she meant it positively. "Because of me too – and Melissa. I think it will do all of us some good – an adjustment, that is."

He tipped his chin up, seemingly looking at her out of one eye, faux-smug in his remark, "That's awfully wise of you, inspector. Astute, some might say."

"And others might say it's a last resort," Mary didn't want his visions of her to be idealistic, better than who she really was underneath. "But, I'm going to try and embrace it, I guess – to not expect results overnight."

"That is a method you have had to adopt more often than not lately," he was referring to the patience she'd had to rely upon when it came to his recovery. "And, it's not as easy as people think."

"Well, 'waiting it out' has never been my strong suit," she admitted. "But, I think it's time to act, one way or another. If this plan doesn't work, I guess we can try another one…"

"One step at a time," Marshall resonated. "Slow and steady wins the race."

It was like an alarm went off in Mary's brain, complete with a flashing red light, squawking so loudly people miles around could hear it. At first, she didn't understand why the old adage would invoke such an extreme reaction in her and she wracked her brains trying to come up with somewhere she'd heard it before in her everyday life.

And then she remembered. Marshall had said it – many-many times – when Melissa had been in the hospital, when she'd been making such sluggish but stable progress day-by-day. Was it possible he had pulled the phrase from some far distant nook in his brain; not knowing it had come into play during his past life? Or, were the memories starting to come back? Mary was afraid to ask and didn't want to get her hopes up, but her face must've given her away.

"What?" Marshall queried, not following why her eyes had grown wild and slightly frenzied.

"No…nothing…" she covered quickly. "Really, it's nothing."

And then, to prove she was not going to let it trouble her any further, she reached out and took his hand. The heart that had previously been sprinkled in the dust of firecrackers suddenly took flight when she realized he was gripping hers back, not because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to. How or why Mary knew the difference, she wasn't sure, but it was part of knowing Marshall.

This Marshall, or the one who had been her partner and then husband for upwards of twenty years, she was dimly beginning to feel that she recognized them both. And, if she was lucky, that they were also becoming one in the same.

XXX

**A/N: And, now they start again – hopefully for good this time. :)**


	39. Chapter 39

**A/N: This is one of my favorite chapters. I hope others enjoy it as well.**

XXX

Saturday was a breath of fresh air for Mary, in spite of the fact that the raging winds from Friday had filtered into a steady rain that greeted her on the weekend morning. The skies were grey and murky, bottomless clouds concealing the sun completely so that it was hard to tell what time it was when she woke up. But, the pitter-patter against the gutters and roof created a gentle, soothing rhythm and crafted a perfect day for resting and lounging around; the woman was content with her mug of coffee and muffin, allowing Melissa to sleep in as long as she wanted. She finally wandered out of her bedroom around nine thirty, and her mother allowed her to eat sugary cereal without milk, so breakfast turned into more of a snack than usual.

Marshall had spent the night at Stan's again, but neither Shannon women found his choice as offensive as they had on Thursday evening. He had taken quite a few things over there when he'd left two nights earlier, and they'd all come to an agreement that it would be more convenient for him to stay one more night. Mary and Melissa had been enjoying their girl's time as it was, and Mary had the feeling that Marshall and Stan had been cracking wise like a couple of bachelors on their own. The male inspector insisted he would return in the morning, luggage in tow, to give his former household another shot.

And, true to his word, the man reappeared Saturday A.M., a little damp on top from the rain, but seemingly in good spirits. Because of this, Mary decided that since she had-had her chance at mending fences with her husband, that it was someone else's turn to try starting anew. She had to go pick up Brandi and bring her to the house because Peter was going to be in Roswell for most of the day, and he insisted his wife not be alone. So, when Mary departed to snag her little sister through the blustery gale, she left only one person in charge of Melissa. That person, of course, was Marshall.

The step-father had not seen the little girl since Thursday after school, when he'd confused her so thoroughly on what to do when she was being picked on. While a part of him wished to correct his blunders in that area, mostly he just wanted to talk. There was no one around to interrupt them; they had only the impending storm for company and so if they were going to get the ball rolling, now would be the time to start.

Mary had left without informing her daughter where she was headed, mostly because she planned to be back in less than an hour, and so Marshall approached Missy's bedroom door with a one-footed hop, having left his crutches behind. The hatch was open just a crack, and he could see yellow light sneaking through the frame, accompanied by rummaging, clanking sounds. For all he knew, Melissa could be inventing something in the confines, and hastened to knock and see what was going on.

He stuck his head in before she could feasibly ask who was there, and he saw her sitting cross-legged on the carpet, fiddling with a mass of objects on the floor. Most were tiny figurines and pieces of diminutive furniture, but a hodge-podge of assorted items were spread around her, including three portions of a plastic dollhouse.

It seemed she was so absorbed that she hadn't even heard him rap his knuckles on the wood, and so he cleared his throat.

"Hey, there."

The deep voice made Missy look up, and for a split second Marshall thought he saw animation glimmer in her eyes behind her glasses at seeing who had come to call. But, it vanished as quickly as it had come, and her face remained a relative deadpan, no doubt steeling herself for disappointment.

"Hi," but, she was as pleasant as possible when she formed a greeting. "Did you want something?"

"Oh, I just thought I'd see how you were…" Marshall was honest in his intentions. "It's been a few days. You think I could come in?"

Melissa didn't hesitate for long, but there was something in her features that said she perhaps suspected ulterior motives – like someone had put him up to chit-chat with her. The man could understand her reservations. Like anybody, she would be more comfortable if she thought he was there because he desired a visit all on his own, and not because someone had compelled him to do so.

But, the little girl scooted aside, sweeping toys along with her and said, "Okay."

Marshall hobbled in as soon as he was given clearance, still keeping his leg with the cast in it aloft, and this became a talking point at once.

"Where are your crutches? Don't you need them?"

"For long journeys, yes," this made it sound like he frequently engaged in ten-mile-treks. "But, I can get around well enough without as long as it's not for an extended period of time – my ankle is wrapped quite securely under there…" he waved an indistinct hand at his foot.

"Does it hurt?" Marshall was encouraged that she didn't sound like she was asking like she was worried, but merely curious.

"My leg or my ankle?"

"Both, I guess," the second grader settled on as the man lowered himself to the floor, his back against the end of her bed so he could stretch out. "I know your ankle was really painful when you first fell on it."

Marshall decided he would just glide over the stickier details of the accident, especially if he wanted their interaction to be a positive one.

"Well, neither is very painful so long as I'm cautious about not being on my feet too much," he schooled her, stretching his arms behind his head in a relaxed pose. "They're usually just stiff; my knee doesn't bend very well in this cast," he tapped the black casing.

"When do you get to take it off?" Missy wanted to know, seemingly forgetting all about whatever she'd been doing before he'd come in.

"Oh, a number of weeks…" he gesticulated with an airy hand. And then, figuring this would be an opportune moment to bounce topics, "But, enough about me, ma'am. All anybody has done is talk about me in the last week. I'm _much_ more interested in what you're doing here…" he indicated the mess strewn all over the floor.

This produced a shrug, and the child regarded all her treasures with something resembling dreariness, like for as great as she'd thought they once were, now she wasn't sure how fascinating they could be. The last thing she wanted was for Marshall to think she was a big bore.

"Oh…nothing…" she said dismally, wondering if he'd bite if she downplayed her hobbies. "I kind of broke my dollhouse yesterday, and so I was trying to put it back together."

Marshall had heard all about her spectacular meltdown, and again determined that they could circumvent a prickly subject. Something told him he was supposed to remember this fixture in Melissa's bedroom, that it was an object he would know all about if not for his memory problems. While it might be strange for Melissa to educate him about it again, they had to start somewhere. She had, after all, seemed to enjoy filling him in the first time she'd visited him in the hospital.

"This is a lot of stuff," he commented, eyes scanning all the pieces of plastic on the ground. "How do you keep it all straight?"

"Well, I put the people in their right houses at night – when I'm not playing with them – but now they're all mixed up; I have to find them again."

"I see," Marshall bobbed his head. Because he couldn't move very far, he groped for a doll that was nearest, and came up with a little wooden ballerina with a painted-on tutu and slippers. "So, who is this fetching young lady?"

"That's Jinx," Missy informed him with a reluctant smile, reaching out and taking it from him.

"Well, I should've guessed that," he stated with a scoff. But, instead of inquiring further about the doll, he took a more scenic route. "Do you ever dance with Jinx much? I know she's quite the tippy-toes when she gets in her swan lake routine…" his arched his arms over his head in a performer's pose, which made Melissa giggle softly.

It took her a moment to answer, because she became temporarily distracted by replacing doll-Jinx to her home, but she spoke through her movements, not looking Marshall in the eye, but sounding jovial all the same.

"I'm not a very good dancer. I fall a lot because my balance is off…"

"That's right," Marshall said, having forgotten. "But, do you _like_ to dance, even if you're not overly talented?"

He waited, her hand in one of the pieces of the dollhouse, but then she threw a coy look over her shoulder at him, her cheeks pinking slightly.

"Well, kind of…" it sounded like she had never admitted this before, even during a time when he would've been able to retain the information. "Jinx loves it when I do. Sometimes, when I was littler and mom was gone somewhere, she and Brandi would turn on music and spin me around and around until I was so dizzy everything looked like it was twirling just like I was…"

Marshall could not interrupt this. The story was too good, and he had to wonder if Mary was aware of these little jam sessions with Missy's grandmother and aunt. It didn't exactly sound like her sort of pastime.

"I'd fall all the time, but Brandi would just pull me back up and spin me some more – sometimes, she'd hold me so I wouldn't get hurt. It was fun and sort of scary at the same time, but I liked it…"

"It sounds like a riot and a half."

"Yeah, but one time, they got me so dizzy that I got really sick. I threw up all over the sofa and Jinx and Brandi thought they'd be in big trouble with mom if she found out…"

"Did she?" Marshall was intrigued.

"No," Melissa smirked, obviously proud that this secret had been kept. "You got home first, and you made up this story that I'd just eaten something bad. Mom believed you."

"Well, I must've been pretty convincing," he assumed, wishing he could recall the look on Melissa's face so many years ago when she realized they'd put one over on her mother. "But, speaking of Brandi…" he glanced around at everything there still was to paw through and put away in the dollhouse. "Which one of these is her?" his eyes scanned the clutter, looking for a doll that might resemble his sister-in-law.

Once she was sure that Jinx was secure, Melissa crawled on her hands and knees in search of the person Marshall had requested, fingering tiny beds and diminutive chairs. But, after a thorough hunt, she found what she was looking for, and held up the long plastic Barbie who was wearing artificial denim shorts and a pink shirt.

"This is Brandi," she waggled the doll in her hand, which made its blonde hair jiggle back and forth.

"She's bigger than Jinx," Marshall mentioned, noticing she was also the largest figurine he could see around him.

"It's just pretend," Missy claimed with just a hint of attitude. "I picked the Barbie because she has the same color hair as Brandi – and because of the way she's dressed."

"I haven't noticed Brandi wearing anything like that," the man motioned with his fingers at the skimpy outfit. "In the past, yes. But, not recently."

"Not since she's going to have the baby," and, as she said this, Marshall noticed there was a luminosity dancing in her eyes. Without waiting for him to question it, she plowed on, "I hope he comes soon. I really want to see him."

"Babies are a lot of fun," Marshall harmonized, knowing how much he doted and mooned over anything in booties. "I'm sure you will be quite the proficient cousin. How do you think Brandi will be as a mom?"

He expected a kind answer, and that was exactly what he received, "She'll be the best!" And then, as if realizing how this might sound, she gave a shy smile and corrected herself, "Well, I mean…not as good as mom." She meant Mary; Marshall understood. "But, Brandi will be really great too. I just know it."

The man did not ask how she 'just knew' but the fact that she such strong faith with no explanation reminded him of Mary. She, too, had a very strong moral and guiding compass that tuned as though like a weather vane; it proved she had killer instincts, and it seemed Missy had inherited this trait. So, instead of doubting her, he played off what she had already indicated.

"It sounds like you really believe in Brandi."

Her eyes twinkled again, and Marshall could tell she was enjoying enlightening him, that it was doing her heart good to remind herself of all the people in her life whom she could depend upon.

"I _love_ Brandi."

"I can tell."

"She's _beautiful_ – she looks like an actress."

"She is very pretty," Marshall asserted, crossing his ankles as best he could and making himself at home. "But, I bet that's not why you love her."

"Well, no," she admitted, now turning her back again and finding a little box, which she put the Barbie inside. Deviating slightly, she showed him the cardboard residence, "This is what I use for Brandi's and Peter's house since I don't have enough pieces on the dollhouse."

"You know, you might want to put Brandi in our house," he suggested. "Your mom went to pick her up; she's going to be hanging out here with us today."

Melissa did it without comment, and then got back to what she'd been saying before, still fumbling around with her back to him.

"I would love Brandi even if she were ugly, even though she's not, because she's so nice." Marshall was about to say that lots of people were nice and that he wanted to know what made Brandi so special, but he didn't need to. "I used to stay over with her and Peter sometimes and she would tell me these stories before bedtime – stories that aren't in books, stories she just made up…"

"I say those are the best kind."

"And, she taught me to bake cookies and she would take me shopping sometimes – only, I kind of pretended when I was around mom that I thought shopping was dumb because I know that's what she thinks."

"I think you could probably tell her the truth," Marshall figured. "She knows you're your own person, and anybody who wears overalls every day can't love shopping _that_ much."

Melissa giggled and went on, "I like to look for shirts that go with them."

"Well, that doesn't make you _too_ girly. I'd say it's quite an accomplishment for you to not be dolled up in pink every day when you have Jinx and Brandi running around."

She seemingly had nothing to say to this, but was focused on something else; perhaps the mention of Mary had triggered it in her mind.

"Mom is really lucky to have a sister."

Marshall tilted his head to one side, "Do you wish you had a sister?"

"Mmm…sometimes…" again, the man was struck with the notion that this might have been something she'd never confessed, not to him or to anyone, so it was as new to him now as it would've been at any time in the last eight years. "Or a brother. But, I don't think about it a lot; I know mom isn't going to have another baby…"

"Did she tell you that?" Marshall ventured.

"Yeah," she nodded, which surprised him; he had presumed she had come to this conclusion all on her own, but it shouldn't have stunned him that Mary would be so brutally honest with her child; there would be no expectations and no disappointments. "She said she was thirty-eight when I was born, and so now she's forty-six and she thinks that's too old to have another baby. Plus, she got really hurt when she had me, so she probably doesn't want that to happen again."

Marshall was pretty sure that these were all the reasons Mary had given for not getting pregnant a second time, but he suspected there might be another motive for his wife not giving motherhood another go. What with Melissa's nontraditional upbringing, he couldn't imagine she wanted to try and finagle that with a second child. A new addition would know exactly who its father was and would perhaps take away from Missy's blended, expanded family.

"Well…" he mused, not wanting to get too far into this. "At least you'll have a cousin to hang around with. Do you know what Brandi's going to name him yet?"

"She hasn't decided."

"You know what name I like – Matthew."

The oddest thing happened then. A look of dawning comprehension manifested itself on Melissa's face, and it was so similar to the face Mary had made the night before when Marshall had used his 'Tortoise and the Hare' quote. In fact, the two looks were nearly identical and he'd been willing to let it go when Mary had displayed it, but now he was becoming intrigued. How could such simple phrases on his part prompt such astonished reactions?

"Is there something strange about that?" he proposed of Melissa, referring to the moniker he had pinned down.

"How…how come you like Matthew?" it was as though she were in a trance, her mouth in a perfect O shape.

"I just do," he didn't really have a rationale, and yet as soon as he nixed the thought of having chosen it because it was particularly special, something came to him.

The notion sprinkled into his mind like fairy dust, or trickled into his conscious like the raindrops still hammering outside. It floated like a cloud that was just out of reach, something he could grab hold of if only he could leap high enough. It was as if he'd known it all along, and had only now realized his incentive. So small, yet so big.

And, he spoke as the words came to him, slowly and deliberately, spilling from his mouth only as fast as he could think them.

"I feel like it…fits somehow, you know?" maybe she would know better than he did. "We have a Mark…and a Melissa…and a Mary…and a…Marshall…" it would've been humiliating not to include his own name, which he almost didn't. "…I…I feel like we need to add another M to that brood…"

The little girl was still staring at him, but her staggered visage suddenly turned to one of tentative delight. She was looking at him with one eyebrow quirked, and if it had been anybody else, if their conversation hadn't been going this well, Marshall never would've dared broach what he was thinking. As it was, he threw caution to the winds and followed his heart as well as his mind.

"Melissa…have I…" he had to take a pause to swallow. "…Said that before? Have I told you before that I like Matthew as a name for the baby?"

She barely contained herself, but he was proud of her for doing so, "Yes…" she squeaked and clasped her hands together.

"When?"

"Before you got hit…" she rattled off in a rush. "Way before – well, a couple months before, maybe; I don't know for sure, but it was definitely before…"

"Well, this isn't the same as remembering," he wanted to make that clear, still not confident enough in his abilities to know how he'd been able to pull out such an insignificant facet. "After all, I never forgot what it was I liked and what I disliked; this is much the same…"

"But, it's not just that you remembered you liked it, it was that you remembered you'd talked to me about it…!"

"Only sort of, Missy…" another gasp erupted from her throat, and he realized at once it was because he had used her nickname, and he'd been calling her by her full title ever since he'd been in the accident. "I can't see it yet; it's like I know it happened, but I don't know where or when…"

Was this why Mary had responded the way she had the day before with his 'slow and steady' comment? Did that mean something too? Why didn't he know for sure? And, the lilacs planted in the backyard that he'd noticed when he'd first gotten out of the hospital. Did they have some significance? Part of him had thought so, but when Mary had determined he'd given her those specific flowers when she'd been shot, he'd chalked it up to a mistake on his part. Now, he didn't know what to think, but all he did know was that he didn't want anyone to pull out all the bells and whistles when there could be nothing to celebrate.

"Listen, Missy…" he'd done it again without meaning to and the smile on her face was radiant, but he made sure to keep his face still and level. "I don't want to ask you to keep…how you feel right now…from mom," he was referring to the possibility that bits and pieces were starting to come back to him. "I would never put you in that position. But, I want you to know that even though I'm going to keep trying to remember, that doesn't mean it will come easy – and I'm going to make that apparent to mom too."

His vocalizations didn't seem to have toned the little girl down one iota; she still looked completely enraptured that he was molding back into his old self, however gradually. This was a little disheartening to Marshall, because the last thing he wanted to do was disillusion her again, but it was a real treat seeing her so happy. He imagined this must be how she looked so much of the time, and he began to wonder why some things were filtering back in and the biggest, most important sections were not.

"I don't want mom to be let down…" he was getting a little anxious to make her understand and was even leaning forward slightly, putting unnecessary weight on his bad leg. "Or you – you get that, right?"

If she got it or not, Marshall didn't know, but her grin turned peculiarly devious as he pressed her to see things his way and she began seeking the floor for more dolls like she'd never stopped. At first, he didn't think she was going to say anything, and that her silence was the best agreement he was going to get, but as she started gathering the little statues a voice that was calm and extraordinarily mature came from within.

"Did you know how much mom loves you?"

It was as if she were asking him if he wanted to have lunch soon – so casual, so offhand. Marshall did his best to answer in the same manner, but it was hard when he couldn't see her face.

"Yes, I do. As much as I can, I do."

"I think she's worried you don't."

Marshall couldn't entirely interpret this statement, and so did what he could to get clarification.

"You think she's worried I don't know how much _she_ loves _me_, or you think she's worried _I_ don't love _her_ anymore?"

Even as he said it, it made his head spin, but Melissa seemed to understand what he was trying to get across well enough.

"Both," she avowed soundly. "She thinks that you think she's the same person she was a long time ago."

"And, what person is that?"

Here, Melissa frowned, a little plastic Fisher Price man in her hands, her nose wrinkled as she attempted to explain what she meant.

"Well, I don't believe her, but she told me that before you married her, she was really mean – she didn't like to listen to anybody, she didn't trust anybody, and she didn't want any friends because she was sure they would leave her."

It was endearing that Missy couldn't see her mother in such a negative way, but sad that Mary would try to talk her into thinking that Marshall had changed her so dramatically.

"Mean is not the word I would use," he told the eight-year-old, watching her rotate the toy in her fingers. "Difficult – difficult is probably more accurate. She didn't like people to get too close and so she could sometimes be pretty tough on them to make sure they weren't going to hurt her."

A poignant look eased into Melissa's features, "Her dad hurt her so badly. He ran away and she never saw him again."

"Yeah, I know," Marshall whispered, uplifted by listening to her exhibit such compassion. "What do you think about that?"

"I think it's terrible," she said softly, keeping her voice low as though Mary might be eavesdropping. "He was _lucky_ that mom was his little girl – why would he just leave her like that?"

It was such a childlike, innocent response that Marshall could help but smile, even though the memories that time contained for Mary were nothing but bad.

"I think you're right – he was luckier than he knew. What he did was selfish."

"Mom is not selfish," Melissa spoke up, as if she needed to sell her pitch to him; though it wasn't crucial, it did take them back to her original point about how much the two partners cared about each other. "She said you changed her, that you helped her to trust other people. Like Mark…"

She looked down at the little man in her hand, and she seemed to leave the room momentarily. Marshall had a pretty shrewd idea of what she was thinking about, knowing everything she had been exposed to on Friday about her parentage. As far as he was aware, Mary hadn't pressed the subject again, but had made plans to have a more in-depth discussion about fathers and daughters before the weekend was over. As it was, it seemed Missy couldn't decide if she wanted to drudge anything up or not, but it didn't take her long to speak again.

"I used to think that mom told Mark that she'd had a baby – me – because you'd taught her about how kind some people can be, and he was an old friend of hers…" this made sense, discombobulated as it was. "…I thought she wanted to let him help her because she liked him and because he's so hilarious and silly…"

"We can all use a good dose of 'hilarious and silly' now and then," the inspector buoyed her on.

"But, I guess that's not the real reason…" he could tell this was the first time she had thought of this, because she continued to stare at her hands in her lap. "I guess she thought she _had_ to tell him about me." And then, she choked out the rest, "Because he's…my dad."

This was a finite situation. Marshall had been told how Missy had gone off the deep end after getting the news about Mark, and he certainly didn't want a repeat performance. She certainly seemed serene, but there was no telling what would happen if they deepened into the issue. By the same token, he didn't want to build Mark up so extensively that he diminished his own role. He didn't want Melissa to think that because she now knew the truth about Mark that he could effectively vanish from her life.

Instead, he determined that a question would be safest – even if it was a dicey question.

"Are you upset that he's your dad, Missy?"

She raised her eyes to meet his, forest green to ocean blue, and she seemed reluctant to say what was going through her mind, and yet bursting to get her feelings out.

"I really love Mark a lot…"

Marshall could read her hesitation; she was trying so hard to be sweet, to not offend, but there was more, and Marshall was going to help her get there.

"I don't think anybody doubts that," he murmured gently. "Not even Mark. But, that doesn't mean you can't be frustrated now, or admit that you don't really know what to feel – good or bad."

It didn't take long to break her, because she suddenly exclaimed in a hurry, "I always thought it was you."

Steady, Marshall told himself. No judgments, no platitudes.

"Did you? You thought I was your dad?"

"I don't know why…" she rattled on, now positively clutching the plastic toy in her fingers. "Mom never told me, she never said anything, so I don't know why I thought it was you; I just did."

"The brain is funny that way sometimes."

"I always knew it was you or Mark or Stan, but I never really thought it was Stan; he's a lot older than mom and I knew my dad would be someone she'd been in love with, even just a little bit…" what perfect, second grade logic. "I just thought that because she'd married you and because you'd known each other so long – and you were there when I was born and you saved my life; mom's life too…"

There were probably other reasons, hundreds of them, that she had lived by in order to delude herself into thinking her fantasy had come true. Marshall knew it was likely something that had been between them, an unspoken connection that he no longer remembered, that had convinced her of where her heritage lay. This bond was probably far too difficult to put into words, and he wasn't going to force her.

"…I-I just…I thought it was you," a reiteration for the third time. "Are you going to love me different now that I know it isn't?"

This was the first thing she'd said that sounded like it came out of an eight-year-old's mouth, all jumbled and mishmashed while she tried to collect her thoughts. Before now, Marshall had been dumbfounded on how she could speak about something so adult when she was truly so young. It was nice to know a little girl really did live inside her somewhere.

And so, he put the query back on her, "Do you love me any differently – more or less – now that you know the truth?"

Melissa shook her head, "No."

"Well, then I'd say same goes for me," he concluded. "Missy, I know that people have probably told you for years that where you really came from and who you 'really' belong to isn't important…" he sketched air quotes around one word, hoping she would understand them. "But, it is important. It's important for you to know who you are and how you got here. But, it's not _everything_. It doesn't have to mean that you treat me or Mark any way but exactly how you always did. It may feel weird for awhile, but I think that will fade," he would acknowledge that the transition might be tricky. "We're all still here and we all still love you – me included."

Something about the way he'd just talked to her, so easily, without any barriers or roadblocks or pretenses must've told her that, whether he remembered anything or not, his affection toward her was only growing and that he would continue to foster it as long as he had to. Still, she raised her eyebrows and tipped her chin down, a look that made her resemble Mary so strongly that it was frightening.

"For real?" she proposed, half-joking, half-serious.

Marshall couldn't do anything else but stick out his hand, and she dropped the doll she'd been holding to place her fingers inside of his.

"Cross my heart, Little Missy," he swore as he felt her pump his arm up and down. "Always."

XXX

**A/N: Missy isn't Norah, but if the show had continued, I would've loved to have seen something like this (minus the ailing memory part,) between Marshall and Mary's daughter. You just know he would love her!**


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N: The chapter coming up is super long! I promise it ends with some action, but you have to slog through a bit to get there!**

XXX

What had started out as a light rain shower was a full-blown gale as Saturday afternoon wore on. The howling winds from Friday had returned, and their gusty screams mixed with the downpour made it sound like there was some sort of war going on outside – complete with machine gun fire pelting the house.

It was very odd weather for October, and initially Mary hadn't really been concerned, but she had allowed Melissa to go out with Mark for the afternoon while the drizzle was still manageable and was beginning to wish she hadn't. Trees swayed dangerously in the high breezes, what little leaves they had fluttering and spinning in droves toward the sidewalk. Water was rushing in the gutters and the sun hadn't been seen all day. Mary was glad she'd managed to fetch Brandi before it had gotten too bad, although she did wonder how Peter's journey to Roswell was going.

It was when the skies began to grow dark just before five o'clock that Mary realized they were going to be barricaded in the house for awhile yet, and was glad she had told Mark to be back at the top of the hour. Once she had Missy home, she could quit worrying. She and Marshall had spent most of the afternoon chatting with Brandi, even trying their hand at a few card games. But, the weather seemed to make the younger sister sleepy and she had requested a break from conversation late in the day, which Mary was only too happy to grant.

The TV was on, the local meteorologist blabbing away about how much worse the storm was likely to get before morning rolled around. Mary paid no attention, wondering if Brandi was watching or snoozing from her place on the sofa where she was stretched out. The elder Shannon was in the kitchen with Marshall, sharing a plate of cheese and crackers, when she decided that in order to get her mind off Missy and Mark she might as well venture back to the living room to see what the latest report on the monsoon was.

Walking through and reaching for the remote on the coffee table to turn up the volume, she saw something that caught her eye, dragging it away from the skinny nerd on the television. She'd assumed Brandi was asleep, not having heard her for over an hour, but up close realized she couldn't be. She was twirling a strand of her blonde hair with her finger, idly and absentmindedly, and seemed to be breathing out with slow, deliberate puffs of air.

"Squish?" Mary prodded, still stooped half over to pick up the remote, pausing in slipping it into her hand.

Brandi didn't answer, but continued her regimented, sturdy exhaling. Her finger never stopped circling; a curl of her blonde locks was wound loosely around her knuckle. Leaving the remote and bustling around the coffee table, Mary tried again, jostling her shoulder this time to recall her to the present.

"Squish, hey."

The younger opened her eyes and stared up into the face of her older sister, but she might as well have been a stranger. Brandi swallowed, looking surprised to find herself on the couch and not in her own home. Whatever stupor she'd been in, Mary had definitely yanked her out of it, and rather harshly. Her orbs didn't show any signs that she'd been sleeping either; they were too alert, although vacant.

"What?" she finally murmured, eyes swiveling sideways to see that Mary's hand was still on her shoulder.

"You okay?" the inspector asked, furrowing her brow.

"Yeah…" she replied just because there was a reply to give, one way or another. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Not one part of Mary believed her, especially the longer she stayed in contact with her shoulder blade. Rigidness was locked in her bones, like she was steeling herself for a blow.

"Are you sure?" she goaded again. "You're awfully tense."

"I'm sure…" but, there was a noticeable gulp as a bulge went down her throat, and she closed her eyes again as she said it, like the effort of speaking was too taxing. "I'm just…" maybe she thought a smidgen of honesty would get her out of an interrogation. "I'm having…stomach cramps. They're uncomfortable," she shifted against the throw pillows, as if this would help them go away.

Mary was glad for a cause, for she hadn't intended to make Brandi feel badly about being sore.

"Can I get you anything?" she offered, jerking her head toward the kitchen where Marshall was still sitting. "Are you thirsty – hungry?"

"No…" this response came quickly, like she didn't even have to think about it. "They're making me nauseous; I have no appetite…"

"Okay…" Mary wasn't going to push her. "Do you want to lie down in the bedroom? There's more room."

"No," she sighed again. "I'd rather stay here."

"All right," the other woman was now out of solutions. "Well, let me know if you change your mind, okay?"

"Okay…"

Brandi obviously thought she was going to left alone at this point, because she slipped her lids shut yet again, keeping up with breathing gradually through her nose. There was a definite rhythm to the way she was proceeding; perhaps it was helping her to keep her head. Still, the fact that she felt queasy was worrisome to Mary and, just to make herself feel better; she slipped her hand underneath Brandi's bangs to make sure there was no heat radiating from her flesh. Her skin was lukewarm, but her touch alerted the pregnant one to the fact that she was being analyzed.

"You don't need to mother me; I'm okay…"

"Yeah, tell that to Peter," Mary scoffed. "He wants a blow-by-blow when he gets back."

"That's if he ever made it out of town in the first place," Brandi forecasted darkly.

"Don't you think he would've called if that were the case?" the other assumed. "He left pretty early; he probably got there, although getting back might be a problem…"

"Don't remind me…" Brandi groaned, tipping her head sideways onto a pillow, her eyes flickering in the direction of the TV. "They're saying on the news there's standing water in some of the hillier subdivisions; there's no telling what the main roads look like…"

"Peter is smart; he'll book a hotel if he thinks he can't get back to Albuquerque before the storm blows out," Mary assured her, knowing how she would feel if Marshall were running around in a squall like this all by himself. "It's you he cares about, and you're here so you don't need to have a tizzy, all right?"

She said this in a joking manner, because Brandi was far from freaking out; at the most, she looked anxious and Mary couldn't fault her there. Still though, she seemed not to hear her sister's easygoing words, nor did she seem to find much comfort in the fact that Peter might be away for the night. A grimace followed a brief silence on her part, and the hand that had previously been on her belly rotated around to her spine.

Eventually she said, "All right…" but it was breathless and empty and she tried to roll more to one side to not put such undue pressure on her vertebrae, but she didn't really have enough room to maneuver.

"What are you doing; what's wrong?" Mary thought it was silly that she wouldn't accept some sort of help, because witnessing her shuffling around was sad to say the least. "I already said you could have the bedroom; I really don't care…"

"No, it's not that…" she shook her head, finally having revolved all the way over so she was facing the coffee table. "I don't want the bed; my back hurts because I've been sitting here so long…"

"You want to walk around for a little bit?"

Again, she wagged her head, "No…it makes me too tired."

Mary was beginning to see that nothing was going to be of service here. Brandi certainly wasn't in agony, but she was fairly uncomfortable and little could be done to relieve that. She was nearing the end of gestation and even though Mary knew how tough it could be the larger you became, she had never made it to thirty-eight weeks. Thirty-two had been grueling enough, so she couldn't fathom what her sister was battling through.

Still though, she liked to think she could do something, and made one final suggestion, "I have a heating pad in the closet. That might help your back. Do you want me to get it?"

Brandi appeared to consider for a moment, or else she was just trying to find a suitable position again, but before she could agree or disagree, the front door suddenly burst open, bringing with it about six full buckets of water and a draft of wind that blew a flurry of leaves into the hallway. Mary didn't especially care about the mess, at least not right now, but she was so startled she cried out, making Brandi crane her neck around to see what was going on.

"Jesus!" the inspector shouted, feeling a mist reach her even though she was several feet from the door. "What the hell?!"

Marshall had left his stool in the kitchen to peer around at the scene, but guessing soon became moot. Mark and Melissa had appeared, both of them sopping wet and dripping all over the linoleum that tiled the front hall. Both, however, seem to be in good spirits, and Mark was quick to shut out the storm, muffling all the noise along with it. Mary was so glad to see them both safe and sound that she didn't spare a thought for the virtual flood running along her floor.

"It's about time you showed up!" she bellowed, leaving Brandi behind and side-stepping the coffee table to greet them. "Where have you two been?"

Mark let out a loud sigh; smile still pasted on, and shook his head so that he sprayed water everywhere like a dog. Mary had to duck, which made Melissa laugh from where she stood dripping in her yellow slicker, so big it covered the knees of her overalls and could've been cuffed several times over her hands. Without a hat to go with it, she carried a leaky umbrella, but it didn't seem to have done her much good. Her hair was plastered to her face, droplets decorating the frames of her already crooked glasses.

"Ah, we went to a movie!" Mark announced, removing his coat and placing it on a hook. "And lunch, of course. And, by the time we got out of the theater this little fall shower had picked up a bit. It took us a half hour to get here once the show was over…"

"The theater's ten minutes away…" Mary remarked.

"Not in this weather," he insisted. "It's a good thing I didn't have any solar jobs today or I would've lost business. People are hydroplaning on the main roads if they try to drive over fifteen miles an hour…"

"Tell me you weren't one of them," his ex-wife narrowed her eyes.

"I was the picture of responsibility," he claimed, puffing his chest out. "I had precious cargo with me," he threw Melissa a glowing look. "And, we made it back in one piece – two pieces," a correction. "A little damp, though…"

"Yeah, you smell like drowned dead rats," Mary snorted unfashionably. "Sweets, take that coat off, leave your boots here, and get back to your room and change into something drier…" the mother instructed at once. "Are you hungry? I can have Marshall get you a snack…" it was good for him to test out his legs without the use of the crutches.

"I had popcorn at the movie," Missy proclaimed, which apparently indicated she did not need anything else to eat. "And spaghetti for lunch."

"All right, then it sounds like you're set," the woman concluded. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yup," she nodded vigorously, but didn't elaborate, which was just fine with Mary. She hadn't known exactly what Mark had planned to talk to his daughter about while they'd been out, but it seemed like he hadn't gone too in depth; they could compare notes later. "Can you help me get my boots off, though? They get stuck…"

"Have Mark help you; he's already soaked." Mary pawned that job off and then, with half-a-glance at her ex rephrased, "If he doesn't mind."

"Nah, come here Missy Jean; I'll pull those babies off…"

It took him less than five minutes to detach the little girl from her footwear, which he left on the welcome mat to dry. Then, he hung up her coat and she went pattering back to her bedroom in her socks in search of a new pair of clothes. Mark himself, who had not been cognizant enough to wear boots, removed his own shoes and peeled off his socks as well as his thermal shirt, revealing a plain white one underneath. By that time, he was mostly waterless except for his spattered jeans, but did not seem at all concerned. Marshall hobbled into the room bearing a mug of coffee, which he accepted from where he stood beside the sofa.

"You're going to catch pneumonia," Mary growled at him, Marshall having taken a seat in one of the chairs. "You can borrow a pair of pants from him if you really need to…" she pointed at her husband, who nodded his agreement.

Mark, however, shook his head, "Not unless you want me flashing the entire room in my boxers. Somehow, I don't think Mr. Long-Waist here really has jeans that will fit me," a sip of his hot beverage. "Thanks, though."

The image made Brandi laugh weakly and Mary had to admit that Mark was probably right; Marshall was considerably taller than he was and he would likely be swimming in anything he owned. The offer ended there, although the minor sound of happiness coming from Brandi on the couch must've alerted Mark to her presence, because he glanced at her for the first time since coming in.

"How are you?" he inquired without preamble, no doubt referring specifically to the pregnancy. "Have you been hanging in there?"

"I guess so…" Brandi threw him a feeble smile, trying to keep her chin up. "I'd feel better if I knew where Peter was. I'm sure he's just delayed, but he hasn't called…"

Mary was sorry that her mind was still stuck on this, but there probably wasn't much chance of her forgetting her husband and the predicament he could be in out in such wild weather. Mark appeared to have the same attitude about it that she did, and that was an attitude that wouldn't be of much help to Brandi, especially when she was already under the weather.

"I'm sure he'll touch base when he gets a chance," he tousled her hair affectionately like the big brother figure he could sometimes be. "He's probably just trying to be careful – doesn't want to be on his phone if he's on the road."

"Yeah…" she sighed dejectedly. "I hope you're right." And then, in a bashful but determined voice, she turned to her sister, "Mare, you said you had a heating pad…" it was plain she hadn't wanted to bring this up when there seemed to be so much happening at once, but Mary was glad to be reminded of something she had promised and equally glad to feel useful.

"Oh, that's right…" she was pretty upbeat herself now that Missy and Mark were back. "Do you want it?"

"Yeah, I think so…just to try…"

"Sure…"

Just then, the mother heard the door down the hall open, meaning Melissa had changed her outfit and was going to rejoin them once more. Lazily, she called out to her daughter, mostly because she wanted to be able to pull Mark away without it looking suspicious and she hadn't gotten it done while Missy had been in her room.

"Hey, sweets?!"

The little girl's voice was tinny, "Yeah?!"

"Can you grab the heating pad out of the closet? It's on the middle shelf; it has a black cord sticking out of it…!"

"But, I'm not cold!" she called back and Mary laughed, joined in by the two men.

"It's not for you!" she probably thought her mother was trying to protect her from catching cold after being out in the rain.

"Oh…!" Melissa giggled herself; Mary could hear her even from far away.

"Okay, well get it and bring it to Brandi, all right?"

"Okay!"

When that was settled, Mary whacked Mark's arm to get his attention – probably a little too hard, because he jumped – and gestured wordlessly toward the kitchen, which would pull him out of Melissa's orbit. If the woman knew the child like she thought she did, she would strike up conversation with Brandi and would not disrupt them so long as they stepped away.

Mark seemed to know what she was thinking because he nodded, sliding his cup back and forth between his hands. And, even though Marshall had just sat down a few minutes earlier, his wife didn't want to leave him out and tapped his shoulder – more lightly than she had her ex-husband's.

"Why don't you come with us?"

Marshall shot Brandi a questioning look, and Mary understood that he thought she might want some company while she was laid up. However, the younger Shannon shook her head, indicating she didn't want to stand in the way of anything.

"Go ahead…" she murmured. "I'm fine; I promise."

She wasn't any more credible this time than she'd been fifteen minutes earlier, especially since her cheeks had turned slightly rosy in whatever exertion she had to expend warding off her discomfort, but Marshall took her at her word and lifted himself upright using the armrests on the chair. Just to show that they didn't intend to abandon her completely; Mary chimed in with whatever obliging sentiment she had.

"Holler if you want something else," she reiterated. "We're not far."

Brandi nodded before closing her eyes again, "Sure."

Free to leave, Mary made sure Marshall could get himself into the kitchen without assistance, but he was getting fairly proficient about limping around without his crutches so long as he was mindful to keep his leg elevated. Therefore, she wandered ahead with Mark and reached into the pantry to produce a bag of chips, just in case he hadn't gotten his share of popcorn at the movie. He dug in at once, crunching loudly, his hair beginning to dry in spikes like a little boy's. Marshall took a seat for a second time, resting his bandaged tibia on the lower rung of his barstool.

"So…" Mary was well aware that both men knew why she'd called them together, but couldn't count on either one to get the show on the road. "How'd it go today?" she directed this at Mark. "I wasn't sure if she'd even want to go with you, but it's like she's miles ahead of where she was yesterday…"

It was indeed hard to believe that the same little girl who had hollered such hateful things and sent her room into a spinning tornado of flying objects could really be the one skipping around the house right now.

Marshall had a theory, "The day off probably helped," he put forth, taking a handful of chips himself.

"And the extra sleep," Mary echoed, leaning her elbows on the counter. "But, still. It's not like I told her that Brandi's kid is really a girl or something; I told her who her dad was. I didn't think it would be so easy for her to overlook it in less than twenty-four hours…"

"Maybe, on some level, she always knew it was me," Mark shrugged. "I have no idea. But, things went well enough at lunch. We talked a little bit and she seemed pretty chill…" now, he discarded his coffee and went to the fridge for something colder to wet his whistle.

"Well, I spoke to her this morning," Marshall piped up, deciding not to mention that Missy had indicated who she'd guessed her father might be and that it wasn't Mark.

"You didn't tell me that," Mary interrupted, whipping around sharply to face him. "When was this?"

"When you left to get Brandi," the taller informed her. "It was very casual. I helped her repair her dollhouse and everything; she really liked telling me about everything that goes inside…"

"Yeah, well, the miniature professor, that's her," the woman mumbled under her breath.

"And, if we happened to touch on a few other things in the process…" the step-father gave a shrug, eyebrows raised and an innocent grin on his face. "So be it. She didn't seem averse to discussing it, so I ran with it…"

"Well, that's how she acted with me," Mark pulled his head out of the fridge, emerging with a beer. "She does seem more settled, Mare. I know it's hard to believe and I'll be the first to admit that I thought telling her everything out of the blue like that was rash, but it seems to have worked out for the best. Now that she knows, she can move on; no more secrets…"

"It wasn't _supposed_ to be a secret," Mary emphasized with an impatient huff. "I thought I was doing her a favor just letting her live her life while things unfolded…"

"Regardless," Marshall intoned. "Now that things have 'unfolded' in this particular fashion, I think Mark's right. Missy seems to have turned a corner."

"Are you guys going to be ganging up on me now?" the woman inquired, looking from one to the other, Mark swigging his beverage and grinning, Marshall munching the chips and looking sly at being asked. "Gee, it's almost like old times…"

"I wouldn't know," the male inspector disclosed around bites. "But, if I get a sidekick when it comes to you, then I'll count myself fortunate. You're a full time job."

"You have Stan," Mary reminded him, and even though she pretended to be irritated with the pair of them pulling a 'two against one' she was glad that their banter was starting to feel more natural again. "I've been the odd one out for years…"

Mark made a noise that sounded like, 'pfft' and was in danger of spitting beer everywhere, but managed to clamp his lips down in time. Mary crossed her arms and shot him a quizzical look, wondering what the sound was supposed to have meant.

"Please…" he said when he finally swallowed. "Everyone knows Marshall and Stan and I are still losing even though we outnumber you three to one."

"If you counted Melissa, it'd just be two to three," Mary pointed out, secretly pleased by the accolade. "Hopefully that'll restore your sense of manhood," she clapped his shoulder roughly, smiling grimly.

And, speak of the devil, Melissa herself suddenly came running in, the heating pad held aloft in her little arms. She had changed into a pair of navy sweatpants that were gathered at her ankles and a shirt Jinx had brought her from the dance studio ages ago. It was a little big and a garish shade of lime green, but she never wore it out of the house because it didn't go under her overalls, and so it looked almost brand new. She'd also pulled her wet hair out of its ponytail and it fell in ringlets down to her shoulders, bouncing as she raced toward her aunt.

"Here, Brandi…" she held the object out like a peace offering. "Mom said you wanted this."

Brandi had to elbow up in order to take it, but she was able stretch and slip it out of her niece's grasp.

"Thank-you, honey…" she even rewarded her with a kiss on the cheek. "Do you think you could take the cord and plug it in the wall over there?" she aimed a thumb over her shoulder to the jack under the window.

"Yep…"

And, speedy as anything, Missy detoured around the couch, plug in hand and jammed it into the wall, fortunately not when there was any lightning crackling overhead. Fortunately, the cord was long and reached Brandi still on the sofa and the little girl obediently placed it in her lap once she'd come back around.

"Don't know what I'd do without you, Thumbelina…" the blonde whispered tenderly, and even from a distance Mary thought she saw her try and smile.

This gesture of gratitude must've convinced Melissa she could hang around, because she said, "Can I sit on the couch and watch TV with you?"

The channel was still on the news, but that was the least of Mary's worries. Brandi had opened her mouth to respond, looking unsure how to say that she didn't really want to be crowded, but her older sister was listening and prevented her from having to invoke any hurt feelings.

"Hey, girly…" she called out around Mark's standing form, waiting for Melissa to turn to acknowledge that she'd heard. "Why don't you leave Brandi alone for now? She's not feeling very good."

The eight-year-old's eyes appeared only slightly downcast upon hearing this, and she looked to the other woman for confirmation.

"What's the matter?"

"I just have a stomachache," Brandi pledged softly, clearly attempting not to look too concerned for herself. "And my back is sore; that's why I wanted the heating pad."

Melissa knew very few ways to help, but that didn't mean she was giving up.

"Do you want a glass of water?"

The aunt rubbed her arm gently, but shook her head, "No, but thank-you, sweetheart. I just want to rest."

"I could paint your toenails…" Missy wasn't done yet, casting around wildly for something that would stick. "You used to let me; you said I was getting really good and I like all the colors you have. You even said it felt good because your feet are all…"

"Swollen," Brandi finished for her, obviously unable to dispute the point. "That's true…" she seemed to be wavering, wondering how much damage a little pedicure could do. It was probably the little girl's hopeful face that swayed her; it was definitely something that was hard to say no to. "…All right…" she eventually agreed. "Go look in my purse by the door; there's probably not a lot of polish in there, but there should be one or two…"

"Yay!" Melissa shrieked and clapped her hands, running off to do as instructed at once. "I'll be real careful – with your feet and with…you."

Mark and Marshall both chuckled, Mary wondering vaguely when her daughter her gotten into something as feminine as nail-painting, but that wasn't really what was on her mind. She didn't want her sister to feel beholden to a begging second grader who wouldn't let up until she got what she wanted, and didn't hesitate to make that known.

"Squish, you didn't have to give in; there's plenty she can do without bothering you…"

"I don't care…" Brandi insisted, but it was said with the air that she didn't care about much of anything. And then, surprising Mary, she transferred her weight so that she was sitting all the way up, legs dangling over the edge of the sofa. To Melissa, she shouted, "I might be a minute, Missy; I need to go to the bathroom first…"

No answer from the little one who was busy consulting polish shades in the entryway, but seeing the younger Shannon struggle to get to her feet, Mary gave Mark's bicep its second smack of the night. He leapt in the air once again, this time looking befuddled as to what the 'love tap' was about.

"What was that for?"

Mary shot him a disdainful glance and motioned toward the living room, "Go help her up! Or, do you want Marshall to break his other leg trying?"

Mark had the grace to look ashamed and set his beer down, hustling forward to aide Brandi. In one swift move, he had her up and, although fairly unsteady on her feet, she righted herself quickly and seemed in good enough shape to head back to the restroom on her own.

"You need anything else?" Mark asked, just in case.

Mary heard a faint, "No…" before she disappeared down the hall and out of sight. For some inexplicable reason, Melissa went with her, holding two bottles in her fingers as she ran, no doubt to consult on color choices. Mary hoped she at least had enough sense to stay out of the bathroom while Brandi was in there.

Once Mark returned, she knew they should get back to discussing Melissa and her multiple fathers, but for some reason she didn't want to, nor did she perceive any kind of imperative need. All parties who had been with her since the reveal had said she seemed to be on the mend, and if the cheerful demeanor they were all witnessing right now was any indication, she had definitely perked up for the long haul.

"So, you said Melissa was pretty relaxed earlier…" it didn't hurt to cover all the bases though, and Mary stole a sip of Mark's beer before he managed to pull it out of her reach. "I wasn't sure about sending you guys off, just the two of you – no offense. But, I also wasn't crazy about leaving gimpy and the blimp here alone…"

"Not needing a babysitter notwithstanding," Marshall cut in, taking the tease well, but sticking up for both himself and Brandi.

Mark smirked and got back to his account of events, "I was kind of nervous about it too, to be honest, but I think it was actually good it was just me and her."

"How do you figure?" Mary wondered.

"Well, we could kind of cut to the fat, you know," her ex-husband went on. "It didn't require a lot of explanations and sit-downs and dramatizations; we could spread everything on the table…"

"If there aren't as many people to cross-examine, there's less chance of confusion," Marshall mused philosophically. "She doesn't have two voices in her ear giving her two different stories."

"Who says I would've told a different story?" Mary worked to sound insulted, but really she was just interested in what they thought.

"I don't think you would," Mark persevered. "But, he's right – the one-on-one does close a lot of the holes. I think if she has anything else to ask, she'll ask it – whether she asks me or Marshall or you," a prediction. "I do feel like she's had this weight lifted off her. She doesn't feel like she has to tiptoe around anymore…"

"No more eggshells," the male inspector chanted, dusting his crumby hands on his jeans.

"There's still school," Mary wouldn't believe they were truly out of the woods yet, although the fast-paced rapport between the two of them was so familiar that she almost felt they could conquer anything right now; it really was like things had gone back to normal. "There's still no guarantee this gifted class or enlightening the rug rats in her class about equilibrium problems and lack of twenty-twenty vision will make a difference…"

"Ah, my little naysayer," the woman's partner smiled complacently, like the cat that had swallowed the canary. "Where would we be without a pragmatist like you running around?"

"_Pragmatist_," his wife pretended to gag on the sophistication of the word. "Call Webster, doofus…"

Mark was the first one to start laughing, and Marshall soon followed suit, no doubt at the achingly memorable irritated look on Mary's face. Husband or no husband, she'd been flashing that face around for as long as Marshall had known her, and it was moving to see it in full form once again. Eventually, Mary had to join in the chuckles as well, not knowing what was really funny, but knowing she was enjoying herself just the same.

It was a small, high-pitched voice that interrupted their hilarity.

"Mom?! …Mom!"

Mary had been having such a good time that she didn't recognize the timbre as Melissa's at first. Once it indexed in her brain, she decided that she hadn't sounded overly urgent, that she must need something trivial, and that she could wait.

"Not right now, sweets! I'm…!"

"Brandi's sick!"

Still, the little girl did not appear alarmed, even though Mary couldn't see her, but she groaned anyway, not knowing what 'sick' meant in her daughter's mind.

"Great…" the woman grumbled, knowing she shouldn't be annoyed about being separated from a good time, and yet still couldn't help feeling cheated.

Mark and Marshall both rose upon hearing Melissa sound the alarm, Marshall a little more slowly, but Mary waved an irritable hand at the dynamic duo and rolled her eyes.

"Sit down, both of you. She doesn't need an audience."

They glanced at each other, like Mary had emasculated them by taking away their ability to swoop in when a woman was in need, but she didn't have time for their pettiness. She was less worried about Brandi and more worried about Melissa observing another possibly-horrifying event, although she couldn't imagine that what had gone on was too dire. Leaving the island, she jogged through the living room and met her daughter coming up the hall, ready to give a report.

"What happened?" Mary solicited through the shadows created by the narrow space. "Where's Brandi?"

"In the bathroom," Missy stated the obvious first. "She threw up."

Somehow, this didn't equate with how the woman had viewed her sister all evening. Intermittent pains didn't necessarily tally with having an upset stomach, but she was hardly a doctor and there was no reason for Melissa to make anything up. So, she forgot her puzzlement and got back to business.

"Okay…" Mary pointed toward the kitchen, "Go get her some water and bring it back to me, all right?"

"But, I asked her a little while ago if she wanted some and she said no."

"Never mind," that was before the vomiting had begun. "Get some anyway, and don't fool around with the ice maker."

With a little spin, the child went on her merry way, grinning about the fact that she sometimes dawdled and played with the buttons on the fridge.

"I wouldn't do that!" she bleated happily, and Mary couldn't understand why someone hurling their guts out would please her so much, but perhaps she was feeling the sense of normalcy that was beginning to reside among them as well.

Trusting the little girl to as she was told, and with Mark and Marshall to watch over her, the inspector proceeded forward once more to the restroom. The door was just barely open, but she could tell the light was on and she knocked without waiting for clearance to come in. It was feasible Brandi had heard Melissa bellow up the hall to alert everyone to her quandary.

"Squish?" Mary poked her head around the door and the sight that met her was far from pleasant.

Brandi was slumped on the floor, her cheek pressed against the porcelain of the toilet, eyes closed. All things considered, she didn't look much worse than she had done a few minutes earlier – perhaps slightly more drained, but Mary knew how exhausting throwing up could be. The fact that she'd managed to get herself onto the ground with her belly being so large was quite an accomplishment and Mary, champion protector that she was, wasn't going to make her work that hard any longer.

"Did you puke?" although her words were slightly boorish, her tone was almost gentle, which was a new color on Mary. Slipping inside and shutting the door behind her, she continued, "Melissa said you were sick; I didn't know…"

"Yes…" Brandi gasped, squeezing her eyes a little tighter as though trying to gather some precision. With a deep breath, "Yes…I puked…"

This seemed a stupid question in light of the picture in front of her, but Mary still had to ask.

"Are you sure you're all right? Maybe you have a virus; that's nothing to screw around with…"

Without waiting for a response, she stepped over to the toilet and held out her hand, making sure Brandi could see it in her limited line of vision. After a second or two to gather herself, she accepted her older sister's palm, closing her fingers tightly within hers.

"Come on; you don't need to be on the floor; it will kill your back…"

She didn't need any help in that area, and bearing most of the weight, Mary was able to get her on her feet. Immediately, she shut the lid on the toilet and steered Brandi to sit on top. Once she was secure, she felt her forehead again, but it boasted the same temperature it had before. The younger exhaled a few more times, on this occasion with her eyes open, but even though she seemed centered, she was looking fairly pitiful. Wanting to make sure she was listening, that they could look properly at one another, Mary opted to kneel in front of her so that Brandi actually seemed taller than she was.

"Do you think you're done?" she didn't especially want to get spewed on. "Or do you still feel nauseous?"

In spite of how focused she seemed to be on breathing, Brandi must've felt that she couldn't stall any longer. She knew better than Mary what was going on with her body and given the weather and their current situation, now wasn't the time to dither around.

"I'm having contractions…" even as she said it, a hand roved over her stomach and another breath escaped. "The pain isn't that bad, but…"

"Braxton Hicks contractions?" Mary was hoping this was what she meant, but she was starting to feel uneasy.

And, her heart sank clear into her gut when she saw Brandi shake her head.

"No…" she croaked. "They're regular; seven or eight minutes apart…" a hand swept across her forehead, pushing sweaty bangs aside. "Please don't yell at me…" Mary was startled to think she could be perceived this way and opened her mouth to defend herself, but Brandi was way ahead of her. "…I've been having them all afternoon, but they really didn't hurt and I didn't start timing them until a little while ago; even then I wasn't sure if they had a pattern…"

Here, she sniffled and a few tears trickled down her cheeks; all the same, Mary was impressed that she was keeping calm so well.

"I…I don't know what to do; there's no way we can go out in this storm; it's too dangerous. And, if the contractions aren't five minutes apart they'll send me home and then we'll have to brave the roads again; it's not safe…"

This was all very practical, and Mary was about to say that they would wangle something, they still had time to get her to a hospital, even though her heart was starting to beat unnaturally fast. It was imperative she not show that she was even the least bit concerned because the outlook Brandi was currently displaying was the one they needed to keep intact.

"I…I don't even care about me…" Mary was sure this was a lie, but didn't say so. "…Labor can go on for days; it's not like I'll have to have the baby here…" the other sure as hell hoped not. "But…I don't know what's happened to Peter and if he knew he was missing this he would kill himself…"

This realization gave way for more floods of tears and Mary was sure it came from a mixture of fear for her husband as well as herself. Unrolling a few scraps of toilet paper, she folded the squares and handed them over, reassuring the pregnant one all the while.

"Don't cry…" she whispered, rubbing her knee from where she was squatting on the floor. "And don't worry about Peter; we'll get him here in plenty of time; it's like you said earlier, he's probably just held up somewhere. I can call Stan to track his cell phone if he doesn't answer…"

"Mare, I need to be in a hospital…" Brandi wept, but the mentioned had a fix for that too.

"No, you don't; you just said it," reminding her of her own stock of knowledge. "Not this early; you don't. You'd be at home anyway during this part, so you're ahead of the game. Marshall and Mark and I are here; you're not going to be alone and when we get close enough, if we need to we'll call an ambulance…"

She wasn't sure this was really very consoling to Brandi, but she began to wipe her eyes furiously at the sound of footsteps, and then Melissa crashed through the door carrying a ridiculously tall glass of water, clearly pleased as punch to be of service.

"I brought you a drink!" she announced, and nearly spilled it on the floor in her exuberance.

"Thank-you, sweets…" Mary took it before she slopped it everywhere and then handed it to Brandi.

"Thank-you, baby…" the other repeated throatily, her voice clogged, and she took a long sip, obviously needing it after her barfing spell.

But, Melissa had obviously noticed her red-rimmed eyes and woebegone expression, and there was no way you could get anything by her. She frowned, studying her aunt for what the problem might be. Mary longed to get rid of her before she could find out too much, but it was no use.

"Is Brandi all right?" she asked her mother, as her aunt was busy with the water.

"Yes, she's fine," Mary answered confidently. "But, I need you to do something for me, okay?"

"What?"

She knew full well the sort of reaction this would produce, both from Missy and from Marshall and Mark once they heard the news, but taking things one step at a time didn't mean they needed to deny what was really happening. If they wanted to be on top of things and prepared for whatever might come around the corner, they needed to gather their resources, ready for battle.

"I need you to go back to the kitchen and tell Marshall and Mark that Brandi is in labor."

XXX

**A/N: Baby-time! Always an essential part of most, if not all, of my fan-fictions. Thank-you to all of you who are still supporting me!**


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N: Huzzah – catch-up reviews got me almost to 200! Thank-you! Gold stars for all!**

XXX

In spite of the fact that both Mary and Brandi had insisted that the arrival of the baby was a long way away yet, it didn't stop all of them from kicking things into gear like the next world war was going to start any minute. Only, Mary didn't imagine the supplies they gathered would be of much help in war and suspected that Brandi wished she had never said anything until she was further along in the process. All of their efforts to keep her safe until the main event arrived might look foolishly premature if this wasn't 'it.'

However, Marshall, who was the resident labor and delivery expert, maintained his claims that if Brandi's contractions had a pattern, regardless how far apart they were, that the baby was on his way – be it in four hours or in twenty-four, or even forty-eight. Melissa was ecstatic and not the least bit scared, running around all over the house in search of anything that might help her aunt. Mary wasn't frightened either, not really. She trusted Marshall and, in spite of her own experience, she knew that labor – especially first labors – could be extremely slow. She was banking on the weather to blow out before long, by which point they could call an ambulance or even drive Brandi themselves. Their main concern at the moment was Peter.

They'd taken turns calling him every ten minutes and he'd never answered his phone. Mary didn't really know what they planned to tell him if he ever picked up, because he certainly couldn't drive any faster if he was already out in the storm, which was still raging on. They'd phoned Stan to try and track his cell, who was on top of it but could only do so much from home; he had to call acquaintances several states away where the weather wasn't so bad to see if they could ping off a tower for him. It was slow going for everyone involved.

Because it was still early, all three parties looking after Brandi rotated in and out of the bedroom to coach her through contractions, where she'd finally set up camp. Mary insisted that they not overwhelm her so soon in the game, and it gave two of them the opportunity to keep an eye on Melissa while the other was with Brandi. The little girl was bouncing off the walls, unable to sit still, unable to quell her excitement that Baby Alpert was going to be making an appearance.

After ten minutes of being in the kitchen with Mark, Mary took her turn in the set to sit with her sister and passed her little girl as she came down the hall, slipping and sliding on the hardwood.

"Brandi wants more ice!" she broadcasted, holding an empty cup aloft.

"It's just an excuse for you to play with the ice maker," Mary sneered, smacking her on her behind as she waltzed by. "And quit running around; you're going to fall."

"I haven't yet!" she bellowed from the living room, at which point Mary shook her head, wondering how she was keeping her balance when she was ricocheting from one end to the other like a ping pong ball.

The woman found Marshall in the bedroom, sitting beside her sister-in-law on the edge of the bed by the night table. So far, no other position had seemed as relaxing for her, and so they went with what worked. The biggest problem so far had been finding her relatively comfortable clothes to change into since nothing Mary owned would fit her. They'd unearthed an ancient pair of pajama pants of Marshall's where the elastic was just big enough to stretch around her waist, plus one of his T-shirts. Brandi looked like she was swimming in both, but it had to be less restraining than the jeans she'd had on earlier.

"Hey, midwife…" Mary greeted Marshall and he looked up, slightly exasperated at her choice of title. "Go make sure my kid isn't wasting all the ice, would you?"

"There are worse things to waste, you know," he informed her as he stood up. "You act like we could possibly run out."

"I don't take chances," the woman joshed. "And, it's more that I don't want it melting all over my kitchen floor so I have to clean it up."

"Well, at least that's practical…" As he passed her in his ungainly shuffle, he leaned in ever so discreetly and whispered, "Still around seven minutes or so."

Mary nodded to show she'd heard and allowed him to go on by; flopping onto the end of the bed rather carelessly while Brandi remained up at the front so there was some distance between them. She never knew how close her sister wanted her to be and she certainly didn't want to crowd her. It had been interesting, thus far, to see how the two men had handled the situation, but both had done very well. Marshall always sat right up next to Brandi, completely invading her personal space, but she never told him to back up. Mark often perched behind her, lounging on the pillows until he was needed, and then he tended to dart around – behind, to the side, in front; whatever took his fancy.

"My mouth is so dry…" Brandi gasped hoarsely once Marshall was gone. "All I do is crunch that ice and I'm still so thirsty…"

"You really could have an actual drink," Mary reminded her, hopefully not too haughtily. "No one's going to call the doctor police; how much could it really hurt?"

"They say you're not supposed to eat or drink anything…"

"And, do they expect you to starve if this goes on for three days?"

"I'll be long dead before I starve if this goes on for three days."

Mary had to laugh at this, even though she wasn't sure she should, but Brandi had a point. Food would probably be the least of her worries if she was still at this seventy-two hours from now. What was more, she was pretty sure she wasn't hungry anyway, although the older still thought a beverage wouldn't be the end of the world.

"It's good you still have your sense of humor, Squish…" Mary remarked, leaning on one elbow. "A lot of broads would be freaking out about now."

"Freaking out…" she huffed in a struggling exhale. "…Won't help…"

"Never stopped you before," Mary teased with a wily smirk. "Seriously, are you sure you haven't been hitting the scotch? Because, I totally had you pegged for a meltdown and here you are, the picture of calm…"

"Are these supposed to be compliments?" Brandi wondered dismally, pressing her fingers into one side of her stomach. "Because, I can't tell…"

"You know how I am with the tension, Squish; I'm like a child, have to break the awkward moments…"

"There doesn't have to be tension…" a swallow. "We have…plenty of time…"

Mary wondered if she really believed that. She herself did, to a point. The longer her contractions stayed at seven minute intervals, the more time they bought for the storm to subside or at least recede. As Brandi had said, only five minutes apart got you in the hospital in the first place; it was then that they could start worrying about getting paramedics on the scene. But, so far, they were a long way from that, and Mary did her best to remember it.

"You said…when I was in the ER last week…" Brandi's sentences were fragmented because she had to sneak in a breath every few words. "…That…that was practice…and I'd know…the real thing…" this was true; those had been Mary's words of wisdom. "…And that I'd…cope…"

"You are coping; who says you're not?"

"And, I will for as long as I…"

Perhaps she had planned to say 'can' but she didn't get to finish. Her left hand shot out and grabbed the edge of the nightstand, knuckles closing around the surface and almost instantly turning white. The other hand flailed aimlessly in midair, for there was nothing for it to grab onto. Shaky, rattling breaths erupted from somewhere inside her chest and her eyes pinched shut, like she couldn't bear to face the wave that was slowly creeping over the horizon.

Mary jumped from her resting position at once and crawled over to sit beside her sister, immediately working a free hand into Brandi's that was desperately trying to find something to hold onto.

"Breathe…" the taller encouraged softly. "In…breathe in…"

Brandi nodded almost manically and followed the directions.

"Good, now breathe out…"

The release of air must've been a relief, because she tried to stop there, only to discover the contraction hadn't passed and was still clawing its way through. Brandi whimpered and clutched at Mary's hand.

"Try again…inhale…" a whisper.

For the first time, she answered back in a constricted, strained, tight sort of voice.

"I can't…it hurts…" so much for 'the pain's not that bad.' "It hurts…" she accented this point by digging her nails into Mary's palm.

"I know it does; take a deep breath; you're almost there…"

The end being in sight must've motivated her because she managed to inhale sharply and followed it with a heavy exhale.

"Good girl; there you go…"

Mary had yet to witness her speak through contractions to talk about how painful they were and wasn't sure what to make of it. So far, she'd been so in control – much more, indeed, than Mary would've expected of her. Still, she had no place to judge in this situation, and before she could praise her sister for getting through another round, she heard a shout from the hall.

"I have your ice!"

The mother whirled around just in time to see Melissa barreling in; holding her cup like it was a grand prize.

"Melissa, hang on a second…" she ordered from the bed. "Stay there; one minute…"

Her little girl skittered to a halt, and although Mary knew she could not conceal a lot of what was going on from her daughter, she still did not want her right in the thick of things. She was young and had only the minimalist knowledge about what it took to bring a baby into the world; Mary did not need her becoming traumatized all over again.

Turning to Brandi, who was now breathing long and low to siphon off whatever was left of the contraction, she made sure she was up for visitors before bringing Melissa back into the fold.

"You all right?" she reached up and wiped away a few single tears that were lingering under her eyelashes.

"Mmm hmm…" Brandi hummed, although was not very convincing.

"Are you sure? Because I can send her away if you don't want her hovering…"

"No…" she gasped, leaning her hands on her knees. "She's just curious; it's okay…"

"All right…" Turning back to the door, she called, "Come here, sweets; give me that ice…"

Melissa was only too happy to oblige, speeding into the room and delivering the cup to its owner. Brandi took it gratefully and immediately tipped a few pieces into her mouth. The little one looked thrilled that she was in charge of such a seemingly important job and was perhaps in such a good mood that she risked pushing her luck a little further.

"Can I stay in here with you?"

It was unclear if she was asking her mother or her aunt, but it was Mary who answered.

"Just for a few minutes," she sanctioned. "Not that there's anything to see."

The mention of 'minutes' recalled Mary to the fact that she was supposed to be timing contractions; Marshall and Mark had been meticulous in this effort since things had begun. Quickly she snuck a glance at her watch and saw that it was straight up seven o'clock. She would have to remember to look again the next time to figure out how much space was between, but wasn't sure she trusted herself to do so.

Meanwhile, Melissa had clambered up onto the bed now that the inspector had retreated back to the end and was sitting in the middle of the two ladies. Regardless of the younger Shannon's despairing expression, it seemed nothing could animate Missy more than the possibility of human life landing on earth in the imminent future, and she sought to see if a certain someone else felt the same way.

"Are you excited the baby is coming, Brandi?"

Mary was about to snap that she shouldn't ask questions, this wasn't an interview, but after Brandi swallowed her mouthful of ice, she was fairly quick in answering.

"I am…" her inflection was tentative, like there was more coming. "Kind of nervous, too," she was honest. "He's a little bit early."

"How early?"

"Ten days," she replied. "He wasn't supposed to show up until next Monday."

"I was early too!" Missy proclaimed, though this was news to no one.

"I remember," Brandi murmured in a croaky voice. "Fortunately, my little guy isn't _quite_ as early as you were. Then I'd be more than 'kind of nervous.' I'd be scared."

"But, you're not scared now," the child assumed with a silly shake of her head. "He'll be born and he'll be the perfect size, not itty-bitty like I was!"

"Well, let's hope you're right," the innocence of the conversation seemed to be keeping Brandi's mind off her troubles, and so Mary didn't mind so much that her daughter was in attendance now. "Listen, honey…" while she was feeling even halfway sane, there was something she needed to get out of the way. Her blue eyes shiny, she gave her niece a weak smile and launched in, "So long as we're talking about being scared, I hope that _I'm_ not scaring _you_…"

"No way!" Melissa squealed, throwing up her hands as though to pitch the thought away. "I'm not scared at all! I can't wait for the baby to get here!"

"Well, good…" Brandi sucked on a piece of ice, but made sure her point didn't go unnoticed. "Because, there's a chance I might get kind of loud later; when my boy gets closer to being born, it'll be more painful for me, did you know that?"

"Yes," Missy stated a little more seriously, obviously sensing that she should tone things down. "Marshall told me."

"Okay, well I'm glad he did, but just because I hurt, I don't want you to think there's anything wrong. It happens to all moms when they have babies, and he'll get here just fine…"

Now Mary was beginning to wonder if she was giving this speech, not so much for Melissa's sake, but for her own. The inspector was actually fairly impressed; she should really be the one schooling her child in the intricacies of what was going on, but it was Brandi – the one in the most dire position – that was taking care of it. She might as well be a mom already.

But, a certain part of the dialogue had caught Melissa's ear, and her eyebrows arched over her glasses in something resembling bewilderment and cautious exhilaration.

"You mean he'll get here – _here_?" she glanced around the bedroom. "Is he going to be born in the house?"

"No," Mary and Brandi were simultaneous and in unison. Mary even added, "No, it will not come to that. Babies are born in a hospital."

"Not all babies," Missy was too smart for her own good. "Sometimes they can't help it – they have to come wherever they are and no one can stop them."

"Who told you that?" Mary frowned.

"Marshall."

Why was she surprised? Considering all the time her daughter was spending out in the kitchen with her father and step-father, she was probably learning all sorts of things. Mary couldn't determine if she thought this was good or bad. Was there such a thing as being _too_ educated?

"Well, Marshall needs to figure out that not _everything_ needs to be shared with you…" she poked a finger in the child's belly to show she was partially joking. "You're not his gal pal; you're his child."

"I think I'm _both_…"

As she said this, a fork of lightning zigzagged outside the window and it was so bright that Mary jumped, even though her back was to the curtains. Before the thunder could follow, a second crack of dazzling light illuminated the entire, pitch-black sky. A surging sound seemed to shoot through pistons in the eaves of the house and before Mary knew it the lamps had begun to flicker. She could hear the electrical currents rushing, trying to stay on and still the lights continued to sputter, unsure if they wanted to go completely out.

"Oh, no…" Brandi whispered, her big eyes roving every nook and cranny in the bedroom, and Mary knew how she felt; if they lost electricity, their easygoing plan would suddenly become much harder. "No…no…no…"

"What's wrong with the lights…?"

Melissa's words were chased right out of her when the thunder finally rolled through. It was so loud she almost fell off the bed in shock, although she recovered much more quickly than her aunt did, beginning to giggle nervously as she clung to the mattress. For a split second, the room plunged into total darkness and Mary feared the worst, but then the thunder died and, miraculously, the lamps flew back into life. She heard the TV flip back on way out in the living room.

"Jesus…" she breathed, unable to believe they'd caught a break. "Oh, thank Christ…" She soon forgot her own fears and looked at Brandi, who was trembling and still gazing at the ceiling. "It's okay…" she reached over and gripped her elbow tightly. "It's fine; the lightning probably just hit one of the nearby power lines; you know it never strikes in the same place twice, right?" she was making this up as she went, no idea if the science behind it was accurate. "We're out of the woods…"

Identical yells sounded from the kitchen, "Everyone okay in there?!" Marshall and Mark obviously wanted to make sure the women hadn't jumped out of their skin at the scare.

"We're fine!" Melissa chirped cheerfully.

Mary knew it was time to get rid of her, because Brandi was looking petrified; all her resolve slowly slipping away.

"Sweets, do me a favor, would you?" she touched her arm tenderly. "Go back to the kitchen and ask Mark to find a flashlight in case we end up needing one, okay?"

She might know she was being bummed off on her dads, but it seemed she didn't care, because she hopped off the bed and raced through the hall without another word. Immediately, she knew it was a good thing that she was gone because Brandi actually stood up and began to pace, two hands resting on her lower back. She must be agitated if she was willing to start walking around; when previously she'd just said it made her tired.

Mary tried to head her off before she got started, tried to halt the oncoming train before it careened off the tracks and into a ditch.

"Squish, it's gonna be okay; we have power; the crisis is over…"

"How can you say that?!" she demanded. _"The crisis is over?"_ repeated, it did sound pretty stupid. "Are you the one with a baby pulling you apart without anyone qualified around to help you?!"

"I know it's not ideal, but you could've been by yourself; Peter knew what he was doing when he had you come over here today…"

Brandi continued to pace, and the longer she moved the sweatier and more anxious she became.

"Peter is out in this storm; he could've been in an accident! He should've called way before now!"

"Maybe he just can't get through; you saw what the weather could be doing to the phone lines…"

"If we lose cell service then we won't even be able to call 911! What if the power goes out again?!"

Now Mary was standing too, trying to slow her down, but she couldn't keep up with her movements.

"It may not even matter! You are hours and hours away from delivering; the rain could move through and then we'll be able to get you some help…!"

"And what if it doesn't?!"

"You can't think that way…"

"It's the _only_ way I'm thinking!"

And, with a scream that probably came from frustration as much as pain, she buckled over and clutched at her knees. Mary's heart skipped into her throat, but fortunately she had enough of her wits about her to check her watch again and saw that it was 7:06. What had once been seven minutes apart were now six, and this did not improve Mary's attitude in the least. What she needed to do now, though, was get Brandi over the next hill and she hurried to her side, trying to guide her back to the bed.

"Come on; sit down…sit back down…"

"I don't want to sit down…!" something in her tone of voice told Mary she wasn't refusing just to be difficult, but because her body was telling her to stay upright. "I want to stand…"

"Okay then, stand; what can I do?"

Brandi didn't appear to have gotten this far. There was something directionless about the way she remained rooted to the spot, her face full of agony as she tried to force out a few gasps of air, which didn't appear to be coming easily.

"Take a deep breath; you're doing good…"

A rogue hand was floating in the space between them, and Brandi looked like she was close to swaying, perhaps even tipping over. Mary would still feel better if she sat down, but intuition told her to do something else and when her sister began to pitch forward into nothing, Mary took hold of her in her arms, anchoring her to the ground.

This close in her grasp, she could feel how rigid she was, but Mary let her hang on as tight as she wanted, hearing her loud, shuddering gasps in her ear. With instinct still guiding her, she pinched at Brandi's lower back where she'd seen her holding it, able to do so with her chin over her shoulder.

"That's it; you can do it…" the older Shannon whispered. "I'm proud of you, Squish; just hang in there."

"I wanted…drugs…"

Mary hadn't anticipated hearing this, but didn't let go, nor did she quit rubbing her back as well as she could from where she was standing.

"What?" she questioned in her ear.

It took Brandi a second to respond, being busy with breathing and trying to keep her head on straight, but it was encouraging to Mary that she could still speak at all; that meant they weren't in too deep yet.

"I…I wanted drugs…the epidural…I wasn't gonna…be one of those girls that…" a great, quaking gasp, which told Mary they were on the back end of the contraction. "…That…tries to be all…brave…" this might be her way of saying she was already past her breaking point, but her sister doubted that. "…I'm a…wimp…"

"Nah…" Mary shook her head, something inside telling her it was okay to loosen her grip now because Brandi didn't feel so edgy anymore. "Looking to not be tortured, more like. I was all doped up when Melissa was born; it's the only way to fly…"

Brandi was facing her now, still panting rather hard, but not looking as though she were suffering quite so much. And, even the taller one's backhanded tribute to her prowess didn't fix anything.

"You had to be…you had a C-section…"

"Yeah, but you think I was slogging through any part of it without a morphine drip?" she mused. "No way. And, anyway, this is why you practiced all the Lamaze and stuff, right? Just in case – just to be prepared. It's a good thing you did, right?"

"I guess…"

"You know," Mary corrected. And, now that the present calamity had passed, she gestured toward the hall, "I'm gonna grab Mark, okay? Have some more ice."

It was her ex-husband's turn to play coach, but that wasn't really why Mary was anxious to depart the room. Six minutes between contractions on top of the likelihood of the power going out meant she needed to discuss logistics with Marshall again, and away from Brandi so that she wouldn't become frenzied.

Fortunately, she didn't need to go far, because both men were already at the door as she was leaving, Melissa with them and carrying a flashlight as big as her entire head. Both seemed relieved that the scene was as they left it, minus the fact that Brandi was now mobile – and had gone back to pacing. Mary was glad as she addressed them that her sister could not see her face, because bluffing right now might be a bit of a problem.

"Hey, can you stand in for me?" she asked Mark. "One of us will be right back."

"I was just on my way in," he smiled optimistically, like nothing odd was going on at all, and stepped right past her.

Once Mary was sure that the new team was occupied, she made to close the door to block out any discussion she might have with her husband, but as she reached for the handle she saw that Melissa was about to sneak through the crack. Swiftly, she grabbed her collar and pulled her back, which produced a startled sputtering sound.

"Stay out of there; give Brandi some privacy."

"But, you said I should bring the flashlight!" she held it up, so heavy she could only raise it to chest-height.

"Yeah, and you'll be the first person I call if we lose the lights again. Go put it back on the kitchen counter and find something you want for dinner, okay?"

"I don't want to eat; I want to stay here!" she bargained.

"Too bad; you're not living on popcorn and spaghetti; you need food. Go…"

Melissa must've figured that her mother was snippy because of the situation, although personally she was cool as a cucumber and left without anymore arguing. Glad to have at least a few moments of peace, Mary faced her trusted partner in the presence of the shadows, counting on him and his extensive wealth of knowledge to put her mind at ease. For so many years, she had relied on his cool sense of purpose, his everlasting calmness; both the literal and figurative port in the storm, in this case.

"All right…" she kept her voice down, knowing that they were manned on both sides. "What are they saying on the news? What are the chances we'll lose power?"

"I don't know…" he shrugged. "Some parts of downtown have already lost it, but a lot of the residential areas haven't, so there's no way to know. Is Brandi still holding steady at seven minutes?"

"No, she's down to six," she lamented. "Just now. When does the hospital usually get involved?"

"Five minutes in the event that there aren't any other complications."

"Because complications are just what we need…"

"The issue at the moment is really the weather; it's screwing us out of getting her to help or even getting help here," he explained as if he were talking himself through the procedures. "We could call an ambulance now, but it's way too early; if they show up and she's still hours from giving birth then they'll try and take her to the hospital and I don't know about you, but even a vehicle with a siren on it doesn't strike me as safe when there's standing water surging down the street…"

"Right…right…"

"Even if they got her to the hospital unscathed – or one of us did – my guess is everything is going to be booked up; there will be car accidents and fires from the lightning and who knows what else. They won't consider her a priority unless she starts having the baby on the floor…"

"Good God…" Mary grumbled, hating how all their options were quickly closing down.

"_And_, if she doesn't have contractions that are five minutes apart they won't give her a room, which means in order for her to still be safe we'd have to stay at the hospital in an overcrowded waiting room which is not my idea of a fun time…"

"So…okay…" they had to plan something, had to construct some sort of map even if it ended up being pointless in the end. "Assuming we can put an ETA on anything here, when do you think we should call 911? When she's far enough along they'll admit her, but not so far she has the baby in the back of a car? When is that?"

Marshall was wagging his head and biting his lip, seemingly doing calculations in his head. He likely didn't think any time was going to work out, and Mary had her doubts about that as well, but there was nothing else they could do but estimate. Marshall's computations would be far more accurate than Mary's.

"I say when she starts having contractions five minutes apart," he eventually determined. "Normally, she'd already be in the hospital at that point, but that's not going to happen. So, we give the paramedics time to get here through the swamp and time for them to get back before she's fully dilated…" Mary didn't care for that word and pushed it out of her mind. "What we're going to do about Peter if we actually manage to pull that off, I have no idea…"

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," the woman decided. "Does Stan have any leads on him?"

"Not yet."

"Lovely…" Mary sighed with her trademark sarcasm. "Giving birth in a mass thunderstorm and the proud dad is nowhere to be found. Brandi is going to be _thrilled_."

XXX

**A/N: You all undoubtedly know how I am about labor and delivery in my stories. I can't do without, it seems! I've never known if that's a good thing or a bad thing!**


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N: One review away from 200! I thank all of you for the first 199 and then some!**

XXX

By some unexplainable miracle – the only one of the night so far – the power stayed intact at the Mann-Shannon house, so no one had to resort to flashlights or candles, not to mention no hot water and a freezer full of ice cream turning to soup. But, despite the persistence of the electricity in staying on, the storm outside continued to rage, and Mary began to feel like they were stuck in some kind of tropical monsoon. Melissa was constantly racing to the front door and turning on the porch light to see the virtual river that was gushing down their street. The front yard was a quagmire, flooded in mud and murky patches of grass. The sidewalk wasn't even visible underneath the piles and piles of fallen leaves.

By eight thirty, Brandi was still contracting inch by inch at six minute periods, but now refused to stay in bed or even on it. Walking around and keeping her feet busy seemed to be her only solace, although she frequently complained that it still made her back and ankles hurt. Evidently, that pain wasn't as bad as what she would experience if she were to confine herself to sitting down. This also meant that a three-person-tag-team was no longer needed to file in and out of the bedroom; Brandi ambled laboriously through the kitchen and living room, meaning Melissa got more than a spectator view of everything going on.

And still, even her own predicament still didn't seem to be what was truly troubling the pregnant woman. It was the fact that her husband was still missing in action, and did not seem to be any closer to showing up.

"Where is Peter…?" she bemoaned for about the fifth or sixth time, wearing a hole in the floor in front of the coffee table. "He should've been back an hour ago; it isn't like him not to call!"

"We're trying to track him, Squish, but Stan can't seem to get a bounce off a cell tower; the weather's too bad…" Mary knew that logic wasn't something she wanted to hear, but reported from the outer kitchen counter just the same. "But, he got a hold of the place where he was having his meeting in Roswell and they said he made it this morning and he even left on time, so he's out there…"

"Out in a ditch, you mean!" Brandi barked, her voice already scratchy from her rapid fire breathing. "I want him here; he needs to be _here_!" she even pointed emphatically at the ground for emphasis.

"Brandi, I know it sucks, but…"

Mary's crass language got cut off, "You shouldn't say 'sucks!'" Melissa bleated from where Mark was holding her on the sofa. "It's a bad word!"

"Is it really?" Mark actually seemed genuinely curious, which Mary found to be childishly obnoxious. "Not _nice_, maybe, but not really _bad_."

"_I'm_ not allowed to say it," Missy informed him prissily.

The mother decided she could effectively ignore both of them, waiting on tenterhooks for when Brandi doubled up again with a contraction; it was always impossible for her to read when they were coming, and then she felt like she was running to catch up the whole time.

"It _more_ than sucks…" Brandi also proved she was disregarding the non-flowery quality of the term and got back to her rant. "Not only is he supposed to be here with me, he could be hurt! Do you know how many accidents they've been reporting on the news?"

Mary had-had half a mind to turn the TV off and Marshall, who was standing right next to her leaning against the counter, seemed to express the same sentiment. However, both left it playing on the off chance it would bring some sliver of good news, though they all knew how rare that was at this point.

"I cannot believe this is happening to me!" the younger Shannon continued to gripe, justified as it was. "How long can a storm last? This isn't the rainforest; it's Albuquerque…"

"Do you have census data on the last torrential downpour to hit this place?" Mary muttered to Marshall out of the corner of her mouth.

"No, but remind me to look it up if we end up seeing the light of day tomorrow…"

"I don't even know if the baby's okay! I'm supposed to be hooked up to probably ten different machines, and I'm just walking around here like a pioneer or…!"

Again, Mary was too late to catch the signs, but she dashed from her spot quicker than you could blink once Brandi pitched over so far she actually had to put her hands on the coffee table to steady herself, which was a long way down. This made it hard for Mary to hold her hand, as she'd been doing for the past few hours, but if she wanted to arch like a hunchback then that was her business.

"Pioneer is right; this is how they did it; no meds, no nothing; you can do it too…" Mary rattled off in a rush, placing both hands on Brandi's lower back and putting as much pressure there as possible. "But, they weren't as smart as you are about this whole Lamaze thing, so give me a deep breath; let's go…"

More recently, the inspector had reminded herself a lot more of the aptly titled 'coach.' She was starting to feel like she needed a whistle to blow or a fight song to play; her approach was to be as hopeful and as confident as she could, even when she felt like a big, fat phony. Brandi had made no objections so far, and Mary was impressed over how few crying spasms she'd succumbed to. If she locked herself in her breathing rituals, she ultimately did very well, and the elder sister thanked her lucky stars for that.

"Hit me hard if you're not liking my makeshift massage…" Mary went on, knowing Brandi was too caught up in inhaling and exhaling to say anything to her previous string of encouragement. "Or kick me; that works too…"

The only response she got an enormous, quaking sigh, but Brandi couldn't dwell on the escape of air; she had to continue to breathe in as much as she breathed out. Mary couldn't quite see her face when she was standing behind her, but it was so rooted in concentration she wondered if her sister even still realized the room was full of people.

"Don't quit now; you're doing great; you're almost there…"

Mary could've kissed both of the men for never leading her instructional efforts in rousing rounds of cheers, like they were at some sort of a football game. She would hate that if she were Brandi. They mostly stood on the sidelines and left their kinder words for when the most brutal moments had passed. It was Melissa who she constantly felt she needed to check on, because there was no telling when she would flip from being curious to being distressed. At the moment, Mark was still holding her fairly close, and she looked up at Brandi with wide, but still eyes, seemingly drinking it all in.

"You're coming down…way down…" Mary could always tell by the way the tension floated out of her body, and she was feeling Brandi's muscles begin to relax. "That'll be another one flattened…"

But, when the woman tried to right herself, perhaps because she too realized she had conquered another sixty seconds, one of her hands slipped off the edge of the coffee table, no doubt because her balance was a little skewed. Mary didn't notice until it was almost too late to grab her and pull her back, but someone else was there to at least bring her steady.

As if she possessed some sort of sixth sense, Missy slipped seamlessly out of Mark's grasp as though she'd never been there and held up her hand. It was unlikely that Brandi really recognized it as a little girl's, but that tiny tug was enough for her to center herself on the table and stretch back to her full height.

Even then, the two hands hung limply over the surface, Melissa not having let go, Brandi probably not realizing what she was holding onto. Momentarily enraptured by the scene, Mary watched as her eight-year-old applied the smallest of squeezes into her aunt's palm and Brandi squeezed back before sliding her fingers away.

In the single moment she had before everyone became caught up in the melodrama again, the taller blonde shot her little one a sincere smile, which was returned in an instant.

"Nice going, sweets."

It had been said all night that Melissa was starting to transform back into her former self, but it wasn't until that moment that Mary really felt like it was coming true. Not only that, but that the two of them were back on the same page, that the fight from the day before was slowly withering away. With the restoration of the dollhouse came the restoration of a few relationships as well.

But, it was a good thing their interaction didn't last long, because now that Brandi could speak properly again, she was full steam ahead with her agonizing about Peter.

"This is like some bad movie of the week…" she sounded a lot like Mary when she became cynical; the older sister had never really noticed that before. "It should go on Lifetime or something; it cannot possibly be real…"

At this point, Marshall swooped in with a dripping washcloth; he must've noticed how sweaty Brandi was becoming and, as he was so good at playing the knight on the white horse, didn't want her to suffer anymore than she had to.

"Put that on your head so you don't overheat; it's getting kind of warm in here…" he instructed mildly. "If you'll sit down I can hold it for you so you don't have to worry about it…"

In all the confusion, Brandi seemed startled by the gentlemanly offer, and that she'd been fanning her shirt open at the neck for the past fifteen minutes. Mary herself had only just grasped that the house was indeed growing rather hot. A certain level of humidity was probably in the air what with all the rain, and they didn't typically run the air conditioning in October.

"Come on; take a seat…" Marshall urged. "You can always stand back up again if it's more comfortable, but you'll want to take a load off," such a professional. "Your blood pressure tends to go up if you're on your feet, and we don't want to risk that…"

Only Marshall could make a potentially dangerous scenario sound perfectly commonplace, but it was enough to make Brandi take him seriously. Instead of dropping onto the nearby couch, however, she seemed to decide that more room was best.

"Okay…" she murmured, all-but dragging herself forward. "Yeah…"

Marshall made to grip her hand, but Mark obviously saw the problem this posed considering what might happen to the other man's leg if Brandi should take a stumble.

"I'll go…" Mary's ex-husband volunteered. With a quick kiss, he flipped the little girl off his lap and into the couch cushions, "See you in a bit, Missy Jean…"

Marshall handed over the damp washcloth with a word of thanks and allowed the other two to retreat back out of sight to the bedroom. Mary didn't miss the way his hands went to his pockets and his deep sigh, but there was still an incredible sense of urgency in the air, like they needed to be doing and saying more. Without really know why, the woman was beginning to have that 'hurry up' sort of feeling, but that was really the last thing they wanted. The strain was starting to show in all of them, no matter how they tried to keep it from Brandi.

And, the female inspector was about to find out why her husband was looking anxious, because he turned to her once he was sure they were alone.

"She's five minutes apart."

Mary almost had a stroke at his abruptness, "What?!" flashing a wild-eyed, uncomprehending look at him.

"Her last contraction was five minutes from the one before; she's progressing…"

"Well, so do we call? Do we call 911? That's what you said!"

From the sofa, Melissa bellowed, "I'll call 911! I know the number!"

"Melissa, hush!" Mary snapped, worried Brandi would hear. To Marshall, "Why are we just standing around? Don't we need to do something? She can't have this kid here; absolutely not…"

"I don't know whether to call or not; I suppose at this point it couldn't hurt, but…"

"But, what?" she could not understand his hesitation.

"The roads are still so treacherous; I'd be surprised if an ambulance could even get down here…"

"Well, but even if she can't get to the hospital in time, she needs someone who knows what they're doing to deliver the baby…"

"Well, but what are we going to do about Peter?" the man rubbed his now-thick beard in thought, looking highly conflicted. "I'm worried Brandi's right and that he has been in some sort of accident. But, if he hasn't, he gets here and sees everybody gone – what then? I mean, I left him half a dozen messages telling him exactly what was going on, but…"

"But, there's nothing we can do about him!" she was almost spitting in his face, not angry, but nearly at the end of her rope. "I mean, I'll feel terrible for both of them if he misses this, but we have no control over him! This – Brandi – we do. She's who we can help and sitting around twiddling our thumbs does not help…"

"I know, but women are built to do this; their bodies are made to have children; if it came to it, having the baby here wouldn't exactly be the worst thing in the world…"

"Oh, no-no-no-no…" Mary wagged a very serious finger in his face, not even wanting to entertain the notion. "Never. I swore up and down to her I would not let that happen…"

"It's not exactly a matter of 'letting' it happen…"

"Have you forgotten how things are run when I'm in charge?" she didn't even say this as a josh on his memory; that wasn't even on her mind. "Nobody says no to me!"

"Yes, tell that to a soon-to-be-newborn…"

"Mare! Mary!"

A man's voice was hollering from down the hall and both Mary and Marshall whipped around at hearing Mark from way back in the bedroom. Missy almost flew off the couch, as if she were the one who could bring everything to a standstill. All three stood with their ears perked; Mary knew she should call back, she should ask what was going on, or else run back and see for herself, but something was keeping her from doing it. She didn't know how much more she could take.

And so, Marshall took care of it for her, "What's up?!"

"Just need a hand!"

Mary hurled her most maddened look yet at her husband, "What now?" When he tried to go with her to see the latest development, she chided him to hang back, "Stay with her…" she pointed at Missy, who pouted. "It'll be easier to navigate in there with fewer people…"

She didn't know if Marshall bought this, but he followed her advice and kept Melissa at arm's length, who probably would've been inches from Brandi's face if anyone would've allowed it.

Feeling that she was going to be in for far more than she bargained for, Mary set out at a brisk walk toward her bedroom and saw that Mark hadn't even managed to get Brandi off her feet yet. She was standing with her legs spread apart, like she was trying to straddle something, eyes on the ground. Mark's gaze was cast in the same direction, but he glanced up when he saw Mary. She swung in the doorway, hanging onto the frame, hoping against hope her presence wouldn't be needed for long because whatever had happened wasn't a catastrophe.

"What's going on?" she inquired.

"Can you get some towels?" Mark requested, eyes flashing back to that magic spot on the floor which, Mary suddenly realized, was dark.

"What for?"

"My water broke…" Brandi's voice was soft and meek, but Mary heard it as clearly as if she had bellowed the words. With a sigh, she slumped pathetically onto the edge of the mattress and covered her face with her hand. "Now we know it's for real…"

This was harder to understand with her fingers in the way, and so the older sister bounded all the way inside, taking care to avoid the dampness on the rug.

"What do you mean? What 'real?'" she couldn't even string a coherent sentence together.

"I still thought it might be a false alarm…" well, Mary hadn't, but she wasn't really the one who needed to delude herself into believing everything could be put on hold. "Or…or that it would be a long time before…" she didn't finish her thought, but started a new one. "But, they can't do anything after your water breaks; the baby has to be born or…"

Her non-technical, jumbled jargon was not processing in Mary's brain, and there was only one thing to do when she needed her education verified.

"Marshall, come here!"

Mark was beginning to look slightly harassed as well, which was a new face on him; he was normally so boyish, so worry-free. Marshall came limping into view, his step-daughter at his heels, not about to miss any of the action.

"What happened?" he wanted to know.

"Brandi's water broke," Mary cut to the chase.

She could see the unease fill his blue eyes regardless of how he tried to hide it, "Oh…uh…all right…"

"What water?" Melissa chirruped, but nobody paid any attention to her.

"That's the amniotic sac, right?" Mark cut in, surprising Mary that he knew anything about this. "That's what it is, isn't it?"

"Yeah…" Marshall was rubbing his beard even faster now. "It's what…separates the baby's head from…the cervix…"

If Mary had wanted technical, she was getting it now, but it made her feel weak in the knees.

"There's…not really any turning around once the sac ruptures; that baby's coming one way or another…"

Mary had to grab onto the bed to steady herself, stunned in equal measure by the news as well as the fact that Brandi had known what she was talking about. This was as 'real' as it was going to get. Here, in a car, on the side of the road, or in the hospital; they were going to have a newborn on their hands within the next twenty-four hours, but judging by the rate of Brandi's contractions it was going to be a lot sooner than that.

And, it was like the balance of power had shifted; the urgency they'd all already felt suddenly increased tenfold. Mark was far more on top of things than his ex-wife was and kicked into gear seemingly without even thinking.

"Towels…I'll get the towels; I'll be right back…"

In seconds, he was gone, blundering around in the hallway closet.

"Brandi, you may still be leaking a little bit, but don't worry about it; it's normal…"

Suddenly, Marshall had left his post too, and was gently directing his sister-in-law more on top of the bed, her back against the pillows.

"We're gonna figure something out; you concentrate on you, okay?"

The warm smile he passed her looked so sincere, but she was crying, looking lost and like nothing would really convince her everything could come out in the wash. Mary kept telling herself to get it together, to do as the boys were doing, but she couldn't seem to move. Mark was already back, throwing towels on the carpet and stomping on them to get rid of the wet spots.

"Missy Jean, come here…" Mark called from where he was hopping up and down. When she scurried over, he continued, "Help me pound these down, all right?"

The little girl bounced obediently on all the towels, even bending down to crease and re-crease them when they became rumpled.

"I…I'm so sorry…" Brandi was bawling at Marshall, tears streaming down her face. "I…I spent hours earlier pretending nothing was wrong and…and we could've been in the hospital by now; and it's too late, I…"

"It's not too late for anything," the male inspector was kind, but firm. "You have nothing to be sorry about. Don't get worked up, because it'll make you tired and you need all the strength you can get, am I right?" it was not a demand, more like a fact. Mary noticed he was spreading out a few of the stray towels Mark had brought in at the end of the bed, far from where Brandi was sitting. "Nobody's going anywhere; we're in this together…"

"That's good, Missy – now, go grab that washcloth and sit with Brandi, would you?" Mark instructed, having enough faith in his daughter's maturity to entrust her with such a job. "Hold it on her head, just listen to what she wants and you'll be fine…"

The child didn't even give verbal sanction but climbed up on the mattress, snatching the fabric from the bedside table. She crawled under Marshall's busy hands right into the crook of Brandi's arm so that she was staring up into her tearstained face. But, she didn't follow Mark's directions, allowing the cloth to drip freely onto her aunt's lap.

"Brandi, are you scared?"

The woman didn't have it in her to answer; she simply shook her head and cuddled her niece a little closer.

"She is a little scared…" Marshall spoke up. "This isn't going quite the way we thought it would, but we've got all hands on deck; we're going to do our best to make sure nothing too grim happens…"

At this, even though she didn't have all the details, Missy put on an empathic face, her green eyes solemn behind her glasses. Completely forgetting what Mark had said about the washcloth, she put two arms around Brandi instead, resting her head against her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly with breaths.

"Don't be scared…" she whispered. "Marshall and mom are _the best_ at taking care of people. They won't let you or the baby get hurt…I promise…"

Empty or not, this promise was enough to make Brandi wrap Missy up a little tighter and she laid a kiss on the crown of her head. Innocence really was bliss, but Mary's heart didn't have time to melt on this tender moment. She was the only one still standing around, and Marshall had to hit her arm fairly hard to get her to snap out of it. She was grateful, really; she needed something to get her moving, to instill in her head that this was going to happen one way or another.

"Call 911."

He was already halfway out the door before she indexed what he'd said, and then she had to chase him, Mark right behind, calling to Melissa that he would return in a matter of seconds.

"What?" the woman wanted to make sure she'd heard.

Both men stopped, forming a circle in the shadowy hall, Mark heaving the wettest towels into the living room to be dealt with later.

"Call 911 – call now; now's the time…"

"What…what's different about her water breaking versus having contractions five minutes apart…?" Mary stammered as she pulled her phone out of her pocket.

"Contractions speed up after your water breaks, and five minutes apart is already cutting it fine; we need to get help on the way even if it doesn't make it…"

Mary didn't want to consider that possibility, as she was already having enough trouble digesting that the contractions were going to take an upswing.

"Why didn't we call sooner?!" Mary commanded of no one in particular, fumbling with the buttons.

"I didn't know her water was going to break!" it was the first time Marshall sounded roused. "I had no idea she could progress so quickly with a first baby either; she must've already been dilated several centimeters before she even started having contractions; I wouldn't know…"

"Mark!" Melissa screamed from behind them. "Can you come back?"

"I told her I wouldn't be a minute…" the man explained, and judging by the sounds issuing from the other side of the door, Brandi was in pain again, and Mary certainly didn't want her daughter to be alone with that. "Hang on…"

He left them alone, and Mary just barely saw him leap onto the bed to console a panting Brandi, his hand outstretched while Missy dabbed at her forehead, when she heard the sound of rings in her ear. One…two…three…

"An emergency line isn't supposed to ring this much!" she barked at Marshall, holding out the phone so he could hear too. "What's taking them so long?!"

"They have to be backed up; the number of accidents on the road…"

"911, what's your emergency?"

Finally, Mary could sound the alarm, and did so without hesitation, using every credential and piece of pertinent information she possessed. She was bad ass Mary Shannon, badge and gun at the ready, prepared to defend and fight to the bitter end to protect those she cared most about.

"This is Inspector Mary Shannon; I'm a US Marshal with the Albuquerque division…" Stan could confirm if need be. "…I have a woman in labor and we can't get out of the house because of standing water; we need an ambulance right away…"

She had to do her best to avoid Marshall's stare, because all of a sudden he was looking slightly turned on by her proficiency.

"Thirty-eight; thirty-eight weeks…" the woman reported when asked how far along Brandi was. "Her contractions are five minutes apart and her water just broke…"

"How old is the woman, ma'am?"

Mary did not see why this mattered, but gave the answer anyway, "Thirty-nine…almost forty…"

"She's high-risk…" Marshall hissed. "Because of her age…"

That explained that.

"We will send a team of paramedics, but in the event that they do not arrive in time to assist with the birth of the baby, you can call this line again and we can put you in touch with someone who can talk you through it…"

"That's not going to happen," Mary refused to commit. "You get someone here; I don't care if it's just an intern. Get someone who knows what they are doing and send them here ASAP, you hear?"

This was not a woman to be argued with, "Yes, ma'am."

The line was dead in seconds, which gave way for the inspector to hear the noises of misery echoing behind them. Brandi's once-steady breathing had transitioned into moaning with only the minimalist puffs of air when she could manage them. Mark was chattering endlessly trying to help, and a quick look showed her that Missy was, once again, holding her hand.

"You're doing great; you're awesome; keep it going…"

Nothing but tears and more groans from such aching twinges were expelled.

"Almost there…almost there…"

Mary focused back on Marshall, "She is coming apart at the seams; what are we gonna do?"

"We just did it; we tell her we called for backup; that will at least give her a light at the end of the tunnel…"

"I don't understand how she could just be an hour away from having this kid when the contractions didn't start until five o'clock…it's not even nine yet!"

"She's been having them all day, just not intense ones, and I know it's common knowledge that first babies take longer to be born, but every pregnancy is different; there are always exceptions…"

"Since when is Brandi an exception at anything…?!"

"Now is really not the time to…"

But, a colossal thud wrenched Marshall's phrase apart, and Mary thought for sure the house was collapsing, that lightning had struck the roof at last. The walls shook and an abrupt, chilly breeze was coming from somewhere near the living room. Had the window blown in? Had a tree crashed into it, shattering the glass and soaking the living room? Marshall was holding onto the wall, looking up as though he expected someone from above to tell him what they'd just heard. All they were met with was another clap of thunder, and Mary was willing to believe that was what had sounded overhead the first time when a second bang roared into their midst.

"What the hell is going on?!" Mary hollered. "Is the ceiling going to cave in?!"

"Maybe something hit the house…"

But then, "HELLO?!"

It was not a brutal wind or a particularly lethal bolt of lightning, but a person. An emotional, disoriented, beleaguered person that had just stepped into an empty room when he'd been told his wife was having his baby. Mary and Marshall shared the briefest of looks before the woman bolted forward, wondering if even the smallest amount of good fortune could come their way. Marshall wasn't far behind, his broken tibia nothing but a distant memory.

There, standing on the welcome mat, looking as though he'd gone swimming in his clothes in the middle of the ocean at high tide, was Peter. Mary knew in the qualified sense that he would be of no assistance, but psychologically he was everything, and she could practically feel a collective sigh of relief pass through the house.

"Where have you been?!" the blonde demanded at the same moment her husband sought to find out, "Are you okay?!"

Peter was throwing his shoes off, tossing them onto the bench opposite the door, removing his coat at warp speed. He was seeped with water from head to toe; he had to be cold to the bone, a thought only reinforced when he finally spoke in a hurried, frantic flash.

"I'm fine…" his voice was hoarse and he was clutching at his ribs at every available opportunity. "I had to leave my car at a storm grate two blocks away; I couldn't get through any further without hydroplaning and now that it's dark it was impossible to see…" A gulp, "I ran the rest of the way; it wasn't that far, but I didn't want to chance driving; your street is like a brook; there are tree branches floating down to the sewer…"

This didn't bode well for the ambulance, but they could only take one crisis at a time.

"Where's Brandi?" now that he was undressed as much as he was going to be, he got to the issue at hand. "Where is she; is she all right…?"

"She's back in the bedroom; she's hanging tough; Mark's with her right now…" Marshall reported. "Go-go-go; we called 911 just a few minutes ago so hopefully we've got reinforcements on the way in…"

The man didn't need to be told twice; he stomped in his bare feet across the hardwood, and Mary knew the instant that he must've reached his wife because there was another explosion of noise.

"PETER!"

It came from all three parties – jovial on Mark's part, excited on Missy's, and dissolving reprieve on Brandi's. Whatever came next, at least she had her husband. Mary thought back to how she had felt after she'd been in the fire and had known something was wrong with her little girl; Marshall not being there never had to cross her mind because he'd never once left her side. She knew Brandi loved all of them, but it wasn't the same as being with the one who truly made you complete. With this to drive her, Mary ventured back to where she'd come from to witness the reunion for herself, which was in full swing.

"I'm okay; I told you I'm okay; it was just impossible to get through, but I'm not hurt…" Peter was practically suffocating Brandi in a hug from where he sat next to her on the bed. "…It's you we need to worry about; why are you all wet?"

"You're one to talk," Mark joked feebly as he backed off the mattress, pulling Melissa by the hand. "Her water just broke; hence the towels…" he pointed toward the floor.

"Already?" Peter seemed alarmed.

"Peter, they're not going to get here in time…" Brandi was still sobbing, the reality of the circumstances crashing all around her even though she had the love of her life back with her. "I can't do this by myself; I've been trying so hard…"

"You are far from by yourself; there are plenty of people here to get this boy out safe and sound…" Mary was glad he was leaving his jitters behind, and watched as he kissed her cheek and smoothed her hair. "Marshall told me you have been rocking this; I wish I hadn't missed it…"

She pulled her face out of his chest and wiped at her damp cheeks, "You are soaked; you smell like mildew or mold or something…"

Peter laughed at this and felt his clothes as if to confirm, although he already knew that you could wring him out in your fingers if need be. Seeing this, and probably so they could have some measure of privacy, Mark continued to guide Melissa away, for she was showing signs of wanting to stick around.

"I'll see if I can find you something else to wear…" Mark proposed, even though it wasn't his house. "Both of you, actually. There's gotta be something drier around here…"

"Thanks," Peter found time to say, but then his eyes were back with his wife, sheltering her in his arms at least for as long as she was pain-free. "Look for her first."

Mark nodded to show he'd understood, but before scouting for anything that the married couple would find more comfortable, he slipped back into the hall where Mary and Marshall were waiting. They all knew that, regardless of the happiness of the gathering, they were still in dire straits. Peter's account of the deluge flooding the last two blocks had put true fear in all of them and, as they weren't the ones about to have a baby, they were the ones who had to be on top of their game.

Mary was chewing on her thumbnail, Marshall developing his own habit of stroking his beard when he was at a crossroads. Mark made a split second decision before they were able to confer, dumping his previous promises on Melissa.

"Go look for some clothes for Brandi and Peter," he repeated to the little girl. "Sweatpants or something for Peter – and a shirt. Get Brandi a big shirt – one of Marshall's, okay? Don't worry about pants…"

If that wasn't ominous, Mary didn't know what was, but Melissa disappeared back into the bedroom at his word and went on the hunt, giving the adults their cue to shut the door. The hall was starting to feel like their secret hideout, as it was always associated with hushed whispers and hurried conferencing because time, as had been indicated on several occasions already, was of the essence.

"Okay, we have Plan A, but I still think we need to engineer a Plan B…" Marshall set things in motion without preamble.

"What's Plan A?" Mark had been absent for most of the last five minutes.

"Mary called for an ambulance," Marshall relayed. "But, we don't want to get caught with our hands tied if it doesn't come through; we need to be prepared for anything and at the pace she's going…"

"When you guys were in the living room, she told me she can feel him moving a lot more…" Mark piped up.

"Moving where?" Mary cut in.

"Down, I guess," Mark shrugged. "Where else?"

"That water breaking is killing us," Marshall declared while his wife felt a lump in her throat at the thought of her nephew speeding for the exit. "We just lost I don't know how much time because it burst; it's not necessarily the be-all, end-all when it comes to the swiftness of delivery, but she was already so far along, it's like now she's clearing the final hurdle…"

"Are we talking an hour or are we talking two? Three?" the blonde didn't even know where to begin.

"There's no way to know," Marshall was vague. "But, that's why we need to be ready. I'm really not counting on that ambulance getting here…"

Mark seemed to know where he was going, "So, one of us is going to have to be prepared to deliver that baby."

"Who?" Mary posed, resigned to giving up the idea that the birth wasn't right around the corner, organizing herself to be a little more realistic. "Who gets that job?"

Her new, arranged persona didn't last long when she saw Marshall and Mark exchange all-too-significant looks. It was like they were sharing a secret, and both wanted the other to be the one to reveal it. Her brain seemed to be on a delay as she watched them, Mark's brown eyes swirling with determination, Marshall's blue ones steely and all set for a mêlée. Eventually, impatience took Mary over, feeling like she wasn't being let in on the joke.

"What? What?"

A second set of looks, and then it was Marshall, as her husband, that lowered the boom.

"I think it'll have to be you."

It took Mary a moment to rewind to what question she had even asked, and when she remembered it hit her like a ton of bricks. Her, poised at the landing site, the first to see Baby Alpert's head emerge into the world of living like in some documentary on the Discovery Channel?

"_Are you insane?!"_ she breathed at both of them, nostrils flaring like a dragon. "No way! I'm not a doctor!"

"Neither are we…" Mark pointed out.

"So what?!" Mary wasn't going to let them get by with that. "Why can't Peter do it? He's her husband! He's seen her hoo-hah; we wouldn't be in this mess if he hadn't!"

"Because he _is_ her husband," Marshall emphasized delicately. "Brandi's going to want him supporting her, not being a nervous wreck trying to…"

"What about you?" the woman interrupted manically, looking her partner up and down. "I don't know the first thing about childbirth; you're the one who's all schooled on the ins and outs…"

"You're going to need to maneuver things around…" Mark suddenly realized, sticking up for his fellow man. "_You're_ going to need to be able to move, and you're going to have to be quick with the baby; Marshall's leg is all bandaged; he can't sit or stand in enough positions to make sure…"

"When did you two decide that I was going to be the big loser here?" she looked wildly from one to the other, rage and fright combined making her desperate to have anyone else stake their claim to such a monumental duty. "And, I don't see why I'm a better choice than you!" she jammed a finger in Mark's chest.

"You're a US Marshal; haven't you had training in emergency delivery?" something told Mary he already knew she had, especially if he'd been putting his head together with Marshall's.

"But…but that was…I mean…" she was running out of excuses, and yet she would spar until the bitter end. "…It was probably…fifteen years ago; I don't…" the course had been when she was still in basic training and she'd never had a refresher; apparently, not much changed in the world of birthing babies. "…I've never had to use it; I don't even remember half of…" She had one last stab at incriminating Marshall, "He's had it too!"

"Mary, I would do it if I could…" only from Marshall would she believe he meant that, but his nobility was of little comfort. "But, if this happens, she's probably going to be on the bed and Mark is right – I can't sit cross-legged or up on my knees or anything. Whoever does it is going to need to be limber, and you do have more expertise than Mark…"

"But I…I…"

"Mare, you're her sister…" now the guilt trip; her ex, Melissa's father, placed a hand on her shoulder. "She loves you and she trusts you…"

"She does, Mary," Marshall echoed. "We're just saying. This is getting serious, and when we talk about calling in the big guns, there's no one that anybody wants in their corner more than you."

XXX

**A/N: FUN times ahead for Mary! But, I am sure plenty of you saw that coming!**


	43. Chapter 43

**A/N: 200 whole reviews – and beyond! Thank-you bunches! This is a BIG chapter! I tried to make it realistic without making it too graphic. I mean, I like a true-to-life tale as much as the next person, but hopefully I also recognize that some things do not need to be visualized if the reader is not interested. We'll see, though!**

XXX

"We can wait for the ambulance!"

"No, we can't…"

"You called; it's supposed to be coming!"

"But, it's not, and we need to get ready…"

"Call again!"

"It won't make a difference; find some more towels…"

"Do we have gloves?"

"Missy, find blankets; small ones, in the closet…"

"Hon, hang on; someone's coming…breathe…blow out…"

"Do we need scissors? I found some in the bathroom, but I don't know…"

"We are not doing this here; this isn't a hospital!"

The chaos happening around Mary was completely demoralizing her. How was it so easy for all of them to accept the truth and she was straining as hard as she could not to face it? Was it because, once they did everything they could, they were allowed to take a step back and wait for the happy ending, presuming there was one? You couldn't halt an out-of-control bicycle hurtling down a steep hill, and yet Mary kept trying to pedal backward, like a kayak trying to scale a waterfall.

It was nearly ten o'clock, and in spite of the fact that she had reached out to paramedics over an hour ago, there no sign of them through the dark, wet night. The only plus was that the storm finally seemed to be slowing down; the rain was more of a pitter-patter than a lash. But, it was a cruel irony because now – now, when they might feasibly be able to get Brandi to a hospital – it was too late. For the past twenty minutes she had insisted she couldn't wait any longer, that she could feel the baby coming and that before long she wasn't going to be able to hang on as everybody kept encouraging her to do.

Marshall, at least, had brought small words of comfort. He claimed that many moms were convinced toward the end of labor that the baby was going to emerge sooner rather than later, but the pressure being exerted could last up to an hour before they were truly ready to push. This bought them a little time, with Brandi looking like she was going to have a seizure trying to delay operations. She was shaking, she was so overwhelmed, and for the first time Mary thought that Melissa might be getting a little frightened by all that was happening.

And so, the mother decided she would focus on this, because she sure as hell wasn't going to focus on everything the men were doing to prepare for her nephew's arrival.

Snatching her daughter as she ran across the room with two tiny blankets, her eyes large and round as she observed all that was going on around her, Mary spoke in what she hoped was a gentle voice, although she could hear it trembling on every word.

"Brandi is okay, sweets; she's okay; she's just afraid and she's hurting, but it's totally normal…"

"I know…" Melissa was squirming to get free, to do as the boys were doing.

"You've been a big help; I know she appreciates it…"

Without anything to say this, her daughter managed to get away, no time for her mother's reassurances when there was work to be done. Mary's heart was thudding inside her chest, her fingers tingling; she knew she should do something, but she couldn't seem to move. Everyone else was racing a mile a minute and still she just stood there; it was not at all like her to shrink in high-stress situations, but this wasn't a witness; this was her sister.

"Peter, I can't wait…I can't wait…" Brandi scared Mary out of her trace as she sat up against the headboard, almost squishing her husband next to her. "Someone has to catch him; I need to push…"

"We're almost ready, Brandi…" Marshall called, spreading another layer of towels at her bare feet. "You're doing great; just hold out a little longer…"

"Breathe hard…" Peter instructed, squeezing her around her chest, tipping his chin on her shoulder. "Pant…a lot of exhales; that's what they tell you to do to fight it…"

"I can't do it anymore…!" she was really yelling now, her head so far back in agony that it was almost horizontal to the bed. "Someone look and make sure he's…!"

Her insistence turned into a hair-raising shriek, one that made Mary's blood run cold and her legs turn to Jell-O. It also seemed to alert Marshall and Mark, who had been racing around like chickens with their heads cut off, to the fact that their preparations were going to come to an end.

"Mary, come on…" Marshall beckoned her over; he'd let her stay sedentary for as long as he could, but now they were out of time. "Come on; Brandi needs your help…"

She tried to tell herself to move; part of _wanted_ to; she wanted to be brave and man-up because she certainly couldn't be as horrified as Brandi was. But, her knees and feet wouldn't do what her brain said, and she just stared at the scene with her mouth half open.

"Mare, let's go…" Mark had to raise his voice now to be heard over Brandi's moans. "There's towels and blankets; we're not gonna know what's going on until somebody looks…"

Were they being chivalrous by not throwing up Brandi's enormous T-shirt and looking for themselves, or merely cowardly? Before she could work out the answer, a different voice was pleading for her aid, a voice that was much harder to ignore.

"Mary…please…"

She looked at her little sister, her little sister who had been so courageous, had shown herself to be far more valiant and level-headed than Mary would've ever imagined she could be. Now, her face was beet red and tears were streaming down her cheeks; she was gazing at Mary with yearning, with the hope and belief that an older sibling who had always been more in control than she would take the reins and lead her to the finish line.

"Mary, please…I don't know what to do; I'm trying to wait, but I can't stop him from coming…"

"Mary…"

Marshall tottered up to her, leaving Mark and everyone else in the rearview. Two feet in front of her, his face swam – bearded and beautiful with his tranquil, sweet blue eyes. She wanted to lose herself in them, to run from what she knew she couldn't avoid; tonight, he had been more her husband than he had been in over a week and so why now, when she had finally felt that things were back to normal, was she shying away from who she really was? She was supposed to daring and fearless, and that was not how she felt at all.

He took Mary's dumbfounded face in both his hands, cradling her cheeks, speaking to her and her alone.

"You can do this…" he whispered. "I _know_ you can do this. Women have done it since the beginning of time; Brandi will do the work, all you have to do is give her a map…"

"Marshall…I…I don't even know where to start…"

But, it seemed he had a solution for that too – one so complicated and so intricate that she didn't know when he'd found time to come up with it.

"I'm going to take Melissa and Mark back to the living room and you're going to get on your phone and I'm going to get on mine and I will talk you through it…"

It was hardly fool-proof, and contained a definite flaw in how Mary had imagined this would go.

"You're…you're not staying…?"

"For all of Missy's fervor where this is concerned, I don't think she needs to be present for this portion, and I don't want to leave her out there by herself…" And, before Mary could dispute this, he synched all the holes, "Plus, I think Brandi's ready for the room to clear out; I don't imagine she wants to share this experience with quite everyone."

Mary wanted to argue, wanted to say that she was scared shitless that something would go wrong and there would be no one but her to blame. She couldn't be responsible for injury or harm coming to this baby, not when she'd very nearly lost her own baby eight years before. With everyone relying on her, it was like she couldn't say no, but also couldn't say yes. And still, the longer she waited, the closer Brandi came to birthing her son without a set of hands poised to grab him before he came sliding out. Was that more dangerous, or was Mary trying to be the receiver more dangerous? Trying to figure it out was making the older sister's head spin.

Marshall must've been able to tell she wasn't able to commit, at least not verbally and so, with her face still cradled in his hands, he leaned in and kissed her forehead. It was the most random act in the midst of so much turmoil, but it surged some energy into Mary, at the very least.

"I would entrust this to _no one_ but you…" he claimed boldly. "Today, tomorrow, after the accident, or before…you are who I want in my lair. Nothing ever changed that, and that's a promise."

This wasn't about her, not in any way, shape, or form, but his devotion and loyalty to her abilities, with his memory or without, was what made her tell herself it was time to jump into the fray. All of her nerves were jangling; she was surprised nobody could hear them. And, she was going to have to steady her hands if she didn't want the baby to go sliding, but her head finally nodded, her heart beating uncomfortably and extraordinarily fast inside her ribcage.

"Okay…okay…all right…" Mary said this for herself as much as for anyone around her, nodding still faster as she did so. "I…I have my phone; get out there and…and call me and…tell me what to do…"

"You got it," and he kissed her cheek before bounding onto the balls of his feet, grabbing Missy by the hand as he headed for the door. "All right…!" he announced to the room at large. "We threw everything we could find onto the bed, but we don't want to spoil the moment. We'll come back if we hear the ambulance…"

"Okay…" Peter bobbed his head, for Brandi was too busy grunting with her eyes pressed shut to say anything at all. "Thanks…"

"Let's go, Little Missy; you're gonna be my right hand…" Marshall pulled her toward the door, away from the action.

"Good luck, Brandi; you're gonna be fine…" Mark broke in, leaving with the other man and the little girl. "We'll be right outside if you need anything else…"

"Good luck, Brandi!" Melissa repeated.

Marshall threw his wife one last heartening look, egging her on, instilling his confidence as best he could, but it was her show now. His voice would have to be enough to get her through. And, when her three companions finally left and slammed the door, she knew it was up to her; Brandi had been crying for so long now that holding back was an unattainable goal; they were about to see if that was true.

Gathering whatever bravado she still had, Mary scrambled up onto the bed, perching with her legs tucked under her right at Brandi's knees, which were clamped together at the moment, barely concealed by the huge grey T-shirt of Marshall's she had on that fell over them. The boys had covered the comforter in probably every towel they owned and there was a pile of blankets nearby. Silver-handled scissors were also at her disposal, as well as half the contents of their bathroom cabinets, although what Mary was supposed to do with some of it she had no idea.

Not knowing how else to proceed, Mary did the only logical thing, swallowing the knot in her throat the entire time. She threw up the hem of the shirt Brandi was wearing and was relieved at least for half a second that no baby was emerging yet. She tried to steady her breaths and clear her head, but wild possibilities were flinging themselves through her brain; so much could go wrong, so much relied on the normal order of things, and there was nothing normal about the Shannon family…

"Squish, try to hang on for just another second; Marshall's supposed to call and give me some kind of tutorial; can you do that?"

The most deliberate, wheezing gasps of air issued from Brandi's mouth, like they were being squeezed through an air-tight tube.

"Okay…" she finally said.

"Okay," Mary echoed and, right on cue, her cell phone began to buzz.

It was sitting on the mattress beside her, and she immediately hit the talk button, transferring it to speaker phone before she said anything else.

"Are you there?" the woman wanted to know.

"Yeah, I'm here," Marshall's voice came through as clearly as it ever did when using speaker. "You guys ready?"

His wife didn't know if he was sitting at the computer with a list of home birth guidelines in front of him, if he had called the hospital on their landline to get instructions, or if he simply knew what to do because he was Marshall and, as Melissa said, he knew everything. All she could wrap her head around was that he was her only chance of getting everybody out of this unscathed. She could hear shuffling sounds on his end, no doubt Mark and Melissa listening for a piece of the main event.

"Brandi, are you ready?" Mary went over the question again, knowing she was going to have to be prepared if her little sister was.

She nodded, but warbled out, "Mary, I'm scared…" as droplets of tears leaked from her eyes.

"That makes two of us," it was a lot for the older Shannon to admit, but in this situation she didn't know who wouldn't be. "I'm going to do everything I can to do this right, but I need you to give me some help, okay? We'll work through it together, all right?"

"Tell her what's going on…" Peter reminded his wife, referring to Mary as he rubbed her shoulders. "Don't hold back, talk to her, and he'll make it; he'll be okay…"

By 'he' Mary knew he meant their son, and the severity of what was at stake was pounded into her another time. Working off of Brandi's previous nod, she got back to Marshall to figure out where to go from here.

"We're as ready as we're gonna be, so what do we do?"

"Okay…" she recognized Marshall's 'professor' voice and a momentary, fleeting calm passed over her, which was extinguished in seconds. "There's no way of knowing how close she really is to needing to push since we don't know how far she's dilated, but she's been saying she needs to for awhile so I'm guessing his head is ready to come through. Tell her to push when she's ready, but not too hard at first until you get an idea of where she's at; you're only going to know by looking, and suffice it to say, you can't miss it…"

"Right…"

"Like I said, encourage her to go slow; you can always tell her to amp it up if nothing's happening…"

"Okay…"

"Your instinct is probably going to be touch his head when you see it, but try not to, just kind of make a net with your hands or a blanket until his body starts to slide along…"

"I'll try…"

"I know you will. Do you see anything right now?"

"Anything what?" there was a lot to look at, but so far nothing she hadn't seen before.

"You don't see his head already, do you?"

"No."

"Okay…" the phone stayed lit with Marshall's voice coming through it, and it was like the sound of his timbre was reflected in that tiny light; calm, composed, easy as you please. "Then, tell her to push and we'll figure out what we're dealing with."

And, here was where Mary left him behind, for she could tell by the look of agony on Brandi's face that she was going to let loose sooner rather than later. Trying frantically to remember everything Marshall had said, Mary grabbed the nearest blanket for good measure and tried to center in on her sister, who needed all the help she could get.

"All right, Squish; are you having a contraction?"

Biting her lip, she nodded.

"Okay, then this is it; try pushing, but go easy so I can tell how close he is…"

"What if I can't?" her words were marred by tears and quivers that made her words shake.

"If you can't then that's okay, just do your best; I'm here to catch him…"

"Here we go, hon; take a deep breath…" Peter willed her along, his fingers intertwined with hers. "Deep breath; let it out and then push…"

Brandi's chin seemed to automatically drop onto her chest, her eyes closed and, squeezing Peter's hand so ruthlessly it immediately turned bright red, she pushed and, to Mary's bewilderment, didn't make a sound. Maybe the release of all that pressure was so satisfying that the pain was glossed over. Or, perhaps she was doing as Mary requested and wasn't quite giving it her all. That would fit with the picture in front of her, because she saw nothing that indicated results.

Remembering Marshall's advice, she relayed it to her sister.

"Squish, push a little harder…"

She could only assume she was doing it, because her eyes pinched tighter and her face turned still more crimson, but there was nothing to show for it. Knowing she was going to have to halt to take a breath soon, Mary seized the last opportunity while she still had it.

"One more big push, and then you can stop…"

She didn't know what made her say that, where she'd even heard it used as a method, but a shrill whimper escaped Brandi's mouth from the sheer effort and, just before she released and relaxed, Mary saw it. She was so excited – or terrified – that she screamed the verdict without even thinking.

"There he is; I saw his head!"

It was gone as quickly as it had come; Mary had to wonder if it had been an illusion, but she was sure she had recognized what had begun to slip down, though it wasn't there any longer. Marshall had been right; she did want to touch, to make sure she was seeing everything there was to see, but scolded herself to stay back.

"I saw his head – I know I saw his head, but it rocked back in…"

She anchored a hand on Brandi's knee to change to a cross-legged position while, meanwhile, her sister seemed to be sucking on wind from the exertion of pushing for as long as she could. Already, jubilation was sounding on the phone, and if Mary listened hard enough, she could hear the muffled yells through the door as well.

"His head!" that was Mark.

"You saw his head?!" Melissa.

"Is he crowning? Mary, is he crowning?"

The last query was the most important because it came from Marshall, but she wanted to make sure she was giving the correct response.

"Crowning?" she had a fairly good idea of what this meant, but now wasn't the time to guess.

"Can you see his head right now? The top of it?"

"No; it was there, but now it's not…"

"All right, but that means he's almost there!" Marshall's exhilaration was beginning to show. "Brandi sure knew what she was talking about; tell her way to go…"

"Squish, you're doing it; you've got it down…" and, the woman didn't say this because her husband had told her to, but because she meant it. "Keep breathing and when you're ready we can keep going; are you okay?"

It was a dumb thing to ask, because Brandi was in no shape to answer. Both of her legs were shuddering so violently it was like she was suffering severe chills. Because she didn't know what else to do and because her knee was the only part of her she could reach, Mary caressed her skin while Peter continued to flatten her hair and whisper reassurances in her ear.

"Hang in there…" the big sister cheered her on; her flesh was soft under her fingers. "Hang in there; I know it has to be tough…"

"You were amazing, Brandi…" Peter murmured.

"Mary, she won't have much time to rest, so tell her to really let it go the next time she pushes; the head will continue to slip up and down if she doesn't give it that extra nudge…" the voice of reason was still on the phone, and it was a good thing the female inspector heard him because she had been so caught up in the moment she didn't think ahead.

She glanced up, blanket still in hand, to see that the pregnant one was cringing again, squirming into the cocoon of Peter's arms; her head was under his chin.

"Mary…" she wept, her tone clogged and cottony with tears. "Mary…I need to push again…can I push…?"

She didn't wait for Marshall to confirm, "Go for it – don't hold back; get that head down…"

This time, Mary saw Brandi's toes digging into the mattress when she started pushing and, still, she made almost no noise. How was she not screaming her lungs out when nothing about this process could possibly be comfortable? But, if she was in any sort of zone or trance, Mary wasn't going to argue. As she sat, poised for that same flicker to appear she saw, yet again, what Marshall had been talking about. The head was struggling to settle in where it couldn't sway back into the birth canal, and even though she didn't want to stress Brandi out in any way, she knew that the faster this was over, the happier they would all be.

"Brandi, push hard – push-push-push; he's trying, he just needs an extra shove…"

With this instruction came the shriek Mary had been waiting for – it was short, clipped like that of a baby bird, but it got the job done. A dark head of what must've been hair slid into view, and Mary didn't lose sight of it this time; it stayed where she could see it, in limbo between the womb and the rest of the world.

"Oh, sweet Jesus…" she was breathing almost as hard as her sister, her green eyes fixated on that tiny bulge. "Squish, he's here; his head's here; he's crowning…" now she remembered the word Marshall had used.

"Mary, I'm tired…" the other woman was sobbing, probably frightened of her own prowess and having a kind of out of body experience. "I'm so tired; I can't keep doing this; I can't…"

"Yes, you can; Brandi, you get his head out and he's halfway here…"

"You're so close…" Peter was kissing her between every word. "Closer than you've ever been; think about how you'll feel when you finally see his face…"

Mary's adrenaline was about to shoot through the roof; she felt like she was having a heart attack. Every extremity in her body was on high alert; she completely forgot what she was looking at and how mortified she would ordinarily be. All that mattered was this baby; the baby was all she thought about; the baby was all she saw.

"Marshall, what next?" it was like her vocal chords were vibrating as she tried to keep her cool. "What…what I do when his head is born…?" just the idea was enough to make her sick with worry; what if it began to flop, if she couldn't support his neck, if the rest of the body came too quickly and she dropped him?

"Tell her to try pushing really lightly – short pushes, not all at once. It actually sounds like he's coming really easy, although don't tell her I said that…"

Mary heard Mark start laughing. How they could laugh at a time like this when she had the inexplicable urge to start bawling was unimaginable to her.

"Brandi, you're gonna be done soon…" the older sister reminded her. "His head's coming; can you push again for me?" And then, reflecting on her husband's words, which she'd nearly neglected, "Go slow…"

Marshall must've heard her, because she discerned him saying something on his end when his voice grew tinny.

"You might hear some noise here, Little Missy, but don't worry…"

Mary watched, oddly captivated, as Brandi's efforts guided that tiny head further into the open, inch by inch, amazed against her will to see this little person coming into his own…

"Squish, that's perfect; push just a little bit harder…"

Maybe it was her own anxiety that had urged her to hurry up; maybe it was her intuition. Either way, Brandi must've trusted her because she bore even further down and in the instant she tried to stretch herself just that much more, she screamed so loudly Mary almost fell over. Her heart nearly burst from her chest and she was sure something must've gone awry; she'd been waiting for a reaction to this monumental event and here it was.

"Is he stuck?!" Mary knew she must've stopped pushing if she was able to speak and a quick look showed her that the little boy was back where he'd started; just barely crowning.

"No, he's not stuck…what's the matter…?" she was hoarse with panic.

"I can't get him…I can't…"

"Try again; try again…push through it…" she didn't know what else to say, not when she didn't know what had caused her to shriek that way.

Marshall to the rescue, "Mary, it burns like hell – so they say; I wouldn't know…"

She decided not to broadcast this and went back to being encouraging, "Brandi, just try again; holler all you want, nobody here gives a damn, just let it go…"

"Come on, hon; I'm right here…" Peter gave her an extra squeeze around her chest for good measure.

"Nice big push…I've got a blanket; he wants to get out…"

The same hair-raising shriek erupted and filled the whole of the house and, this time, Mary caught a glimpse of Brandi fisting Peter's shirt in her whitened fingers. The taller sister could tell that she wanted to pull back again and knew she was going to have to fight for her to keep going.

"Push, Brandi; you're doing great; push!"

"It hurts…it hurts…!"

"I know it does, but you're almost…!"

"No…!"

"YES!"

Without even realizing how it had happened, Mary laid eyes on a perfectly oval head complete with a face. It was the most bizarre thing she had ever seen, and yet also the most fascinating. He was a purple-blue color; his eyes were closed and his mouth was squeezed into a line. He didn't even look real, and Mary could only hope that his pallor would improve once the rest of his body followed.

Through Brandi's squeaky huffing and puffing, sounding as though she'd punctured a lung, Mary held the blanket in her fingers as close to that head as she possibly could without touching it and babbled off a string of what she hoped would be perceived as good news.

"His head's out; his head's out…the hard part's over…I can see his face; I can see his hair…"

"Is he okay?!" Brandi blubbered.

"I don't know yet," she could only be honest. "Marshall, he's purple…"

"He'll pink up," but, he didn't sound sure. "Take one of the smaller towels and wipe around his eyes; be really careful…"

"Now?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "Just use your judgment. Use your index fingers to press down the sides of his nose; fluid should come out…"

Mary was sure she couldn't possibly be removing enough of everything that was coating her nephew's face, but she didn't like the idea of him hanging so precariously; how must that feel to Brandi? There was nothing to show for her handiwork when she'd decided she'd done enough, and appealed to her husband once again.

"How will I know if I expelled all the fluids…?"

"You won't; we'll know once he's born if he starts crying…"

"Okay…" she tossed the towel aside, ready to begin again. "Brandi, if you can get his shoulders out, the rest of him will slide without a problem…" she might be making this up, but it was a well-intentioned fib. "You can do it…"

"Mary, has his head turned to one side?" Marshall wanted to know.

"Yeah," she reported once she'd had a look, assuming this was a good thing. "Squish, push…after that head you're not gonna have any trouble…this'll be a breeze…"

She had no idea where her 'ra-ra, sis-boom-ba' routine was coming from. Her brain didn't feel like it was her own anymore; she didn't even feel like herself anymore. Adrenaline was coursing through her veins like blood itself and there was blood on the towels and she felt a complete mess; the show she was putting on for her sister was such a farce. Every time she did something, it felt so risky. Why had she handled the baby? It would've been better to wait; there was no telling what she'd done to him by touching him before he'd even arrived…

"Just a couple pushes…this'll all be over…"

Or just beginning. Distantly, Mary heard Marshall again, although he wasn't talking to her this time.

"Little Missy, watch the clock…keep your eye on that clock…"

"This is it, Brandi; push…"

A different shout tunneled up from within the soon-to-be-mother, something between a groan and a bellow of sheer exhaustion. But, that was all it took; the shoulders came so fast that Mary could feel her heart in her throat. She wasn't ready; she wasn't prepared; Marshall hadn't said it would be so quick.

"Squish, wait…!"

Too late. With a guttural cry came the little boy's stomach, and Mary managed to have him slide into the blanket but it was like he was on runners and she started shouting too; she knew she couldn't lose her cool, but any sense of control she'd ever had-had totally vanished.

"Marshall, he's just sliding out; what do I do…?!"

"Catch him with something; use a towel and hold it around him…!"

"I'm trying, but…!"

"He'll be there; you'll be able to grab him…!"

"What happened?!" Peter was barking now over Brandi's sounds of distress. "What happened; where is he…?!"

"Brandi…Brandi, he's coming; don't stop…don't…"

Mary was holding him before she registered that he was free – free of his nine-month burrow and here on planet earth in the trembling arms of his aunt. The world seemed to have come to a standstill; all of a sudden he wasn't a child, just this limp, blue little being that wasn't making a single sound. He looked just as he had when he'd still been half in and out. There was no color in his skin, no rise and fall in his chest, no motion on his beautiful face.

Brandi was consumed in breathless sighs; she had to have realized that it was over, that she was a mother, and yet something must have told her what the eerie silence was about. Mary knew she should ask Marshall what to do with the lifeless creature in her hands, but somehow she was already there. What made her do it, she had no idea, but she sheltered him in her two large hands, frantically rubbing his chest and his back.

He was so big; so much bigger than Missy had been, and yet even she had started crying by now. He was quiet and still and nothing Mary did penetrated his static features. What had she done? What did she do now? All she could think of was to keep pouring him with life – her touch, her voice – and as she continued to caress his back, his chest, his nose, and his cheeks, she finally squeaked out a few whispered words.

"Come on, Bruiser…come on…"

Tears filled her eyes and a sense of hopeless despair seeped into her bones; now her sighs were as rattling as Brandi's. She couldn't tell her, but how could she not realize what was going on? Hadn't Mary been trying for five minutes already? Before long it would be ten, and then twenty, and why wasn't someone screaming what she should do? Where was their silence coming from? Their trust had been misguided; she'd had no business taking on a job as important as ushering her nephew into the world. What was once blue and purple began to look white and cries Mary couldn't hold in were going to surge forth.

"No…no…"

But, then one long-fingered hand seemed to know to give his back the tiniest of pats, and she saw him before she heard him.

His squishy, supple little mouth began to wiggle and what sounded like a cough squirmed out his lips. Seconds later, with Mary suspended between living today and dying tomorrow, that same mouth opened and a raucous, piercing wail streamed like a brilliant, gorgeous siren into their midst.

And, just like that, Peter was trumpeting his glee for all to hear, clutching Brandi, who was half-laughing, half-sobbing. And, Mary heard three near-identical cheers erupt through the phone, creating static against its tiny speaker; she could even hear the same boisterous calls on the other side of the bedroom door – too loud up close, too soft from far away.

Words and phrases flew at her like shrapnel; she couldn't index who was saying what, just that they were thrilled, that they believed nothing had happened, only good things waited on the other side.

"He's here! He's here!" that belonged to Melissa.

"Missy, the clock! What time is it? Look at the clock!" one of the men.

"10:34!"

"10:34 PM – October 24th!"

"Oh, babe, you did it…I can't believe you…you were incredible…"

"I need to see him; where is he? I need to see him…"

With shivering hands, Mary managed to swaddle the little guy into a cleaner blanket, for he was really crying now – the penetrating scream from before had turned into a shrill yowl. His arms and legs had begun working too and he was flailing all over, trying to escape his aunt's clutches and the folds of the blanket. She could barely hang onto him and the fact that he was now alive and well, although still very purple, hadn't even registered with her yet. Hot, sticky, messy tears were sliding onto her face, but she scarcely noticed them. Pretty soon, she was going to choke on her own frantically drumming heart.

"Mary…Mary…" Brandi was calling her name, and there could be only one reason as to why.

Arching up onto her knees, swaying in the divots on the mattress, the elder sister balanced the little boy in her arms and then lowered his precious body into the hands of his mother.

"He's here…he's right here; he's perfect…" some voice that didn't belong to Mary babbled. "…I've got him; have you got him?"

Brandi didn't say one way or another, but Mary felt her nephew float seamlessly away as though on a cloud, and as she fell back onto the bed, free of his fidgeting body, she saw the look of wonder and awe pass over the new mom's face. Mary was just trying to remember how to breathe; she felt like she was going to have an aneurysm; the sounds of joy echoing all around her came as though from a foreign country, like she wasn't speaking the same language. Terror was still running rampant in her chest, and it was not an easy emotion to chase away.

As she watched Brandi shelter the newborn against her breast, watched as she fluttered her eyelashes in his stunning face and kissed his tiny nose, she was struck with a most peculiar sensation – one that only made the tears already gathering residue on her cheeks run faster.

"Peter, look at him…" she gave a drunken laugh as she sent her husband a tired, but winning smile. "He's so beautiful; Mary's right; he's perfect…"

"Hey, handsome…" the man crooned, poking a finger toward his bare chest peeking out from beneath the blanket. A quaking yelp came from the baby until he was finally still again, testing his eyes, squeaking instead of bawling to beat the band. At the momentary calm, Peter ran his hand over his son's head and murmured, "That's our guy…" as though praising him for settling down.

The family of three tugged at Mary's already tender heartstrings and she thought, selfishly, back to Melissa's birth. She'd been part of her own family of three at that time, though she'd had no idea what would become of her and her daughter and Marshall. Just because they'd all been present for the child's arrival didn't mean it was like this moment unfolding in front of her – where the emotions were built of nothing but bliss and contentment and relief. Mary only remembered feeling petrified and confused, much like she felt right now, and she longed to stow it away, to bask in the ecstasy everyone else was experiencing, but it wasn't that simple.

"What's he look like to you…?" Brandi was appealing to Peter out of shining blue eyes, Mary just trying not to notice all the blood staining the towels around her.

"You mean 'who' does he look like?" Peter tucked a few locks of hair behind her ears. "You…me…?"

"No, I mean what…" she stood by her words. "An Ian…an Evan…?"

"I thought we agreed those never stuck…"

"Yeah…" Brandi gave another sigh as she began to pull the collar of her shirt away, her son rooting around for the taste of her skin. "…There was always that other choice…"

"You might have to remind me…"

But, before Mary could hear the moniker her nephew might be landing himself with, the sound of great scuffling and banging filled the hall and, evidently, the trio of people outside the door couldn't hold their enthusiasm in any longer. Mary couldn't believe Marshall and Mark would make such a scene, but as it turned out, only one person was creating all the noise. The door crashed open and a tiny, speckled blur flew past Mary's line of vision, and a voice of warning called from over her shoulder.

"Look – do not touch! Just look!"

The blur solidified into Melissa at Peter's shoulder and, taking the advice she'd been given, she peered at her cousin out of dazzling, enchanted eyes, hands twitching near her middle all the while.

"He's so little…" she said softly, which was a far cry from what Mary had thought. "And so cute…I love him…"

Amused chuckles could be heard from Brandi and Peter at this already outward show of affection, and Mary could feel Marshall and Mark venturing further into the room to get a peek for themselves. Mary saw all of them, and yet couldn't see them all at the same time; they might've been mist or vapor. It was frustrating to be so apart from their happiness; she wanted to be there too, and yet the horror she had been so rooted in could not seem to leave her body. She was drenched in sweat and her eyes would not stray from all the blood soaking into the towels around them, normal or abnormal as it might be.

"Congratulations, Brandi…" Marshall bestowed. "He is quite the fine-looking boy."

"A heart-breaker, someday," Mark chimed in.

"What's his name?" Missy wanted to know. "Does he have a name?"

She hadn't even been in the room when the new parents had tried discussing this, but now, as they looked at one another, it seemed they had traded votes on that unmentioned title that was not 'Ian' or 'Evan.' Maybe they knew just by looking at him who he was now; maybe it took seeing his face to turn him into a real person. Perhaps the mutual euphoria was driving them, and they wanted a label to put with those flawlessly angelic features.

For a split second, Brandi's eyes caught her sister's, but then they swiveled and found Marshall's, and finally Peter's, as if she were announcing their choice with everyone in mind.

"I think we're gonna go with Matthew…"

And Mary understood why she was considering all of them as she spoke on, her voice as rough as sandpaper, Missy with a miniscule gasp to coincide with the reveal.

"Because…nine months ago someone told us that this family is pretty heavy on the letter M…" Marshall was looking humble, maybe even bashful, especially once Brandi began to choke up. "It's not like everybody has to have it, or anything, but we want him to be a part of this club…" Streaming eyes looked down at her son, "…We want him to know how special it is to be a part of this; where family isn't about blood and DNA, but about sticking together…like you all stuck with him tonight…"

How she could make such a speech when she had to be dying of exhaustion was beyond Mary, but she must've been running on adrenaline as well.

"I'll never forget it was the M's…that helped him get here, either…"

Mary, Marshall, Mark, and Melissa.

"He's as much a part of you guys as he is of me and Peter. So…" Now, she blinked at Melissa, for she had been the one to ask and said, "So…this is him, Thumbelina. Matthew Harold Alpert."

And then the wave congregated, left Mary in her stupor, Mark and Missy converging on the brand new baby boy, forming a tiny circle between the two of them and his delirious parents. Mary watched as though from a distant planet, watched as Brandi pulled out one of her son's petite hands and allowed her niece to touch that soft, unspoiled skin. Mark was making faces and kissing the new mother, clapping Peter on the shoulder, and then Missy was copying him, bleating congratulations like she was thirty-five and not eight.

But, one person had not joined the throng, and it was only when Mary heard his soothing voice in her ear did she realize she hadn't been forgotten.

"Good job, coach."

His breath was warm, his hand strong on her back, and she felt his lips make contact with her cheek, tasting her salty tears.

"Yeah…" was all she could say to Marshall, and she managed to bob her head.

"You got him here; safe and sound…you're a hero…"

She could not agree with this and so said nothing at all. All the hype surrounding her was overwhelming; she wanted to escape it and, by some phenomenon, realized she was going to get the chance. A day late and a dollar short, but still in time to keep anything else from falling apart, Mary saw lights of red and blue flashing in the slick street outside her darkened window. There was no siren, only the sound of tires squelching in the road, and the beams of navy and crimson were like pretty, soft fireworks on the other side of the curtain.

Now, finally, she could breathe, and Marshall must've seen it too, or else felt the way her shoulders slumped in recognition that it was finally over.

"You did it, partner," he praised one last time. "We made it."

XXX

**A/N: It's a Matthew! Hooray!**


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N: Onward and upward!**

XXX

The presence of paramedics in Mary's home seemed to be the smoke signal that said she could wave the white flag and surrender. Even so, Marshall had to pull her by the elbow off the bed because she was so out-of-it that she wouldn't move on her own when three men burst in carrying a stretcher. Dimly, she registered that it was foolish to be acting this way. She had not just had a baby, she was not bleeding, she had not just experienced more pain than she could fathom, and still she was the one who felt like passing out.

Granted, it seemed that the gut feeling she'd had that something was off – even after Matthew had been born – was not completely unwarranted. As Marshall, Mark, and Peter relayed all the information they could to the professionals about the spontaneous delivery, one of the doctors started pressing on Brandi's stomach. Mary heard vaguely that she seemed to have lost more blood than was anticipated, and when she saw her sister's face, she noticed that she was rather pale, although still looked deliriously happy.

The baby seemed to be another story. Although he was still awake, his alertness was becoming rather divided and a second medic proclaimed that he was growing cold and that they needed to get him into an incubator. His purple pallor was transitioning to white and it was really Peter who seemed more concerned about his state than Brandi, who just appeared relieved to have someone in charge take over.

Mary was forced to speak up several times, coerced into giving details only she could give because she'd been the one to witness and aide the delivery. But, every time she talked she felt she was being judged, that she must've done something wrong, and none of the men were around to back up her story when she needed them.

"Did you touch or attempt to cut his cord at all?"

"His umbilical cord?" Mary stammered, eyes wide where she stood speaking to a brunette paramedic in the living room while the others strapped up Brandi in the bedroom.

"Yes, his umbilical cord," the man reiterated. "Did you try and cut it?"

"N-no…" she shook her head, unable to tell by his serious features if this was good or bad. "I…I didn't cut it at all, why? Wouldn't you be able to tell if I…?"

He didn't answer her question, but powered on with more of his own, "Did you handle it in any way?"

"Not…not that I remember…" she was beginning to feel shamed, and the old Mary – the tough, no-nonsense one – wanted to give him a piece of her mind for being so stark. "I mean…I guess it's possible I touched it when I handed him to Brandi, but I don't know for…"

"Did anyone happen to record what time he was born?" he interrupted, making notes on a pad in his hand like he was a police officer, not a first responder.

This triggered something in Mary's brain, but she couldn't come up with a number, which was so inconsequential in light of everything going on. But, she felt like the answer was buried somewhere deep in her mind and, fortunately, she wasn't going to have to tow it out all by herself. Melissa was skipping by, not a care in the world, holding a big black trash bag and taking it who knew where.

Trying to ignore the hardened stare of the paramedic, she reached out for her daughter's arm, hoping she didn't look as ghost-white as her aunt did.

"Melissa…Missy…" her child stopped, bag in hand, waiting expectantly. "What…what time did you tell Marshall when he asked you to look at the clock? What time was it?"

The little girl was prompt, "10:34."

The mother turned back to the man in front of her, "10:34," but, a sinking feeling wondered if this was even right. She'd spent what felt like a half an hour trying to bring Matthew to life as he lay like a floppy, slippery rag doll in her arms, and who knew how many minutes had gone by in that time? Still, there was no other way of knowing, and the estimate would have to do.

"Thanks, sweets…" she murmured to Melissa, who nodded and went on her merry way. "Listen…" she faced the physician, such as he was, bracing herself to say her piece.

She needed to cut to the chase here; she didn't really care how this pseudo-doctor was making her feel because she felt bad enough already. She just wanted to make sure he understood that she had not intended to make any mistakes, had never meant for anyone to get hurt.

"I…I did everything I could; I'm positive I screwed up somewhere, but I really tried to be careful…" she sounded like a sniveling little baby, her hands pressed into her sides where her arms were crossed. "…He came out really easy; Brandi only pushed probably five or six times and he was here…"

"Well, given the weather, it's understandable that you were not able to make it to a medical facility in time," the brunette must've decided that, even if he thought Mary was stupid, at least she was up front about it. "We will be able to get Mrs. Alpert on an IV once she's in the ambulance and put the baby in an incubator as well to ensure he warms up…"

"I…I wrapped him in a blanket…"

He seemed not to hear her, "It was actually very wise that you did not brave the roads when you realized she was close to delivery," if this was a compliment, the woman supposed she would take it. "Better not to attempt such a thing in a moving vehicle. Fortunately, things have finally slowed down as far as the rain goes, and if we can get out of your subdivision, the main streets should not be quite so dangerous…"

"Okay…" Mary supposed that was the best they could hope for. "All right…"

And, as if the rest of the squad knew that he had concluded his report, the two additional paramedics eased down the hall with the stretcher, Brandi strapped on board and Peter shuffling in their wake, holding his son. Marshall and Mark were bringing up the rear, Marshall's long sleeves rolled up, Mark's face shining with sweat, but both looking liberated and pleased. Mary wished she could say the same for herself, but before she was able to form another coherent sentence, the man she'd been conferring with left her side and went to join his fellows.

"Are we ready to head out?" he inquired, and both nodded their approval. "Mr. Alpert, if you could hand over that little guy, I'd like to get him somewhere to heat up; he's looking a little chilly…"

Reluctantly, Peter passed Matthew over to the professional, looking wary all the while, but it seemed the snippy, flippant man knew what he was doing after all, because he held the child as easily as if he were a loaf of bread. But, Mary's eyes soon strayed from such a picture and found her sister, who was concealed underneath a heavy grey blanket and looking fatigued, but miraculously still awake.

"All right, let's move…" the man at the rear of the stretcher announced, and the one in front hitched up the sleigh. "Easy does it…"

Mary knew she should let them go as quickly as they could; after all, she was ready to be absolved of all the responsibility. But, even though she had-had to be almost in rhythm with Brandi during the dicey moments earlier, she felt like they'd been apart from each other at the same time – worlds apart, one scaling the highest mountain, one drowning in the middle of the ocean; the peak and the valley; screaming for each other's help after the fault lines had caused an earthquake. Only now that the dust had settled did she feel like they had shared something – a bond that perhaps not even an axe could break.

"Hey…hang…hang on a second…" she held up a finger and rushed forward when they pulled the stretcher to a halt. "I'll just…be a minute…"

The men in her life must've known she wanted as private a word she was going to get with the house bursting at the seams, because all three backed away – Peter out in the direction of his son.

Brandi's eyes flickered open when she sensed her bed stopping and, squinting, she looked up into the face of her big sister. It had to be swimmy, blurred at the edges like a mirage, but surely she recognized her because she smiled softly and managed to keep her eyes in the tiniest of slits to face her.

"Mare…?" she sounded half-asleep already, and yet still determined.

"Yeah…yeah, it's me…" the older managed a grin of her own, but it was shaky, as though her mouth was made of strings. "Hi…" she couldn't hold her hand with the blanket on top of her, so she placed her fingers on her chest instead.

"Hi…" Brandi even chuckled lightly at the normalcy of their greetings, but quickly grimaced and closed her eyes again.

"You're probably pretty sore, huh…"

"Yeah…" she sighed in recognition. "My stomach hurts and…I'm kind of…" Her mind was too clouded, too full of bliss combined with weariness to come up with a decent word. "…Rubbery…"

"Sounds about right…" Mary agreed. "I hope they let you rest soon." For some reason, the next part was harder to get out, and it shouldn't have been, because it wasn't so different from everything she'd said so far. But, it reminded her too closely of what they could've lost and her throat went tight as she tried to go on. "Don't…don't let them…wear you out…" When she swallowed, it gave way for the tears to escape; her eyes stung as she tried to force them back in. "…You're…you're tired and…Matt needs you to be…on your game…"

Even through the tiny slots that were her sky blue orbs, Brandi could still see her sister falling apart. Mary had not intended for her to expend any more energy than was necessary and wanted to call her down when she saw her making more of an effort to stay alert, but she was quick for a woman who had just given birth.

"Mary, don't cry…" she whispered kindly, so sweetly she sounded like the little girl Mary had grown up with. "I'm gonna be okay…he's gonna be okay. Because of you…"

The taller refused to take the credit and swiped furiously at her eyes, "I'm not crying…" her laugh was crackly and phony. "And…I didn't do anything. I made you bleed everywhere…"

"We're alive," Brandi emphasized, hushed and hoarse. "…And he's beautiful and we both owe you…"

"You don't owe me anything, okay?" Mary wanted to make this perfectly clear, that no matter how horrifying the experience had been that she would do it again in a heartbeat if she had to. "You're my sister. I did it because I love you, Squish."

"I love you too, Mare…"

Their sentimental moment was interrupted by the paramedics, who obviously felt they had indulged them long enough, and Mary couldn't blame them for wanting to get the show on the road. Their job was to heal people, just as it was Mary's job to protect them. She had done her part and now they needed to do theirs.

"We'd better be on our way, ma'am. One of you can call maternity for an update in a bit."

"Okay…" Mary gulped and nodded. "I'll see you later then, okay?" she added to Brandi. "If we can get out of here without killing ourselves, Marshall and I will drop in and see you tomorrow."

"Okay…" she tipped her head back, ready to succumb to sleep. "Tell Marshall I'll get him his shirt back soon…"

The other let loose a more genuine chortle at this and assured her, "I think he'll let you keep that. A baby gift for Matt."

Recognizing that her brother-in-law probably wouldn't be hankering for the garment anymore, Brandi just nodded and shifted further beneath the blanket, ready for take-off. Because she still wanted to be close to her, to make sure she really was all right, Mary satisfied the urge by leaning over and kissing the center of her forehead.

"You kicked ass, Squish."

Her little sister moaned contentedly and gave a tiny smirk, but must've figured everything else had already been said, because nary another word came out her mouth.

As the team boosted the stretcher another time, the men who remained behind – not to mention Melissa, who was back from wherever she'd gone – called out their farewells and well-wishes, not that they hadn't already covered those bases earlier.

"See you soon, Brandi! Safe trip!" that was Mark, always teasing.

"See you later, mama…" and Marshall, tender and sweet.

"Bye, Brandi! Tell Matt that I love him!" and, who else but Melissa.

The paramedics took care of the rest of the goodbyes, the man at the front turning backwards to get the board through the open front door. Mary could just barely hear the sound of what was left of the rain drip-dropping onto the driveway, but wasn't close enough to the window to make out what sort of damage the trees and surrounding houses had suffered.

The boys continued to bellow and holler right up until the moment the door had swung closed, help along by Missy, who watched them take her aunt to the ambulance every step of the way. But, Mary felt herself finally beginning to deflate, the high tension and anxiety that had taken her over for the past hour manifesting in shuddering hands and legs. The tears she had already shed were still trickling away, and even though she knew she should feel better now, she could not shrug off her nerves. She'd just delivered a healthy human being; she should feel ecstatic and proud and instead she felt nothing but fright.

But, the three remaining M's were still on cloud nine, trading personal joys and triumphs, none of them noticing for a minute or two that Mary had sunk, weak-kneed onto the coffee table, her eyes buried behind her hand.

"Well, now, _that_ was quite a night!" Marshall boomed theatrically. "We had our work cut out for us, troops, but we made quite a team, wouldn't you say?"

"I would!" Mark echoed; Mary could just barely see him crossing the floor in the gap between her fingers. "Boy, there's nothing like being there right when a kid's life starts; I wouldn't have thought it could be so exhilarating…"

"Exhilarating, the perfect word!" his fellow man bequeathed him an accolade. "It seems my thesaurus wisdom is rubbing off on you!"

"Actually, I think I learned that one from Missy Jean…"

"Ah, our little nurse!" a shadow crossed the brightly lit room; Mary thought Marshall must've bent over or even bowed, for whatever absurd reason, but she couldn't tell. Her hand obscured everything, the silent sobbing making her face hot in the shelter. But, her husband continued to press on, "What a girl we had here; I don't think we could've asked for a better helper…"

"I second that," Mark seemed to be doing a lot of that. "Missy Jean, you were a pro. You knew what you were doing better than I did! Where'd you learn all that?"

The little girl giggled, "All what?" Mary sensed that she was nearby.

"Come on, you were practically Peter's stand-in before he got here…" her biological father was glowing in his remarks. "Holding Brandi's hand, mopping her brow, telling her not to worry; some bumbling fathers out there could take lessons from you…"

"I just didn't want Brandi to be afraid," she claimed modestly. "I knew she missed Peter and that she was hurting and that she thought she should have a doctor with her, but I knew you all would take care of her; that's what I told her…"

"Yeah, I heard you say that," Marshall murmured softly, proudly. "You really were an enormous help, Missy. Not a lot of eight-year-olds would be able to handle something like this, but you…"

"I didn't ever think I'd get to see it!" her elation that she had gotten to fall witness was palpable. "I thought I'd have to wait until Matt had already been born – like, way after – before I saw him or Brandi, but I got to see almost everything except when he came out…"

"Well, don't feel bad there; you got _more_ than a bystander view," her step-father assured her. "And, speaking of 'Matt,'" he sounded sly, curious, and Mary longed to stem the rapid flow of her tears, but the semi-darkness created by her fingers was just giving way to more; they must've just thought she was trying to gather her senses. "…Did you happen to tell Brandi that-that was my number one choice for his name?"

"It was the day you had the accident…" Melissa was coy, but delighted. "But, I didn't really think she'd use it…"

"I remember you mentioning it," Mark piped up. "And, I say it is a great choice."

"I concur!"

Both men roared with laughter; Mary might've expected them to pour drinks and toast at any moment. But, in the midst of their chuckling and celebrating, it seemed she was finally going to spotted at last. She wasn't sure if she was glad or not, and she definitely wouldn't have chosen the youngest in their vicinity to notice her, but that was the way the cookie crumbled. A shape moved close by, and before Mary could assess what was going on, a hand was on her face, yanking her own away from her eyes.

The lamps were harsh on her retinas when she blinked in at the scene once more; her cheeks were sweaty and her hair matted, her flesh clammy and mottled red. Instinct made her look down, avert her eyes and her humiliation, but there was no darting away from a little girl as clever as hers.

"Mama…?" she could tell Melissa was troubled even though she mopped frantically at her face with her eyes still on the carpet.

She tugged on her arm when she didn't get a response and the woman was resigned to the fact that she couldn't conceal herself from one person, let alone three. When she finally glanced up, she saw Missy looking both bewildered and compassionate; all her best traits were in full swing.

"Mama, what's wrong?" her voice was lovable and charming, laced with pure yearning to know the mystery before her. "Why are you crying? Why are you sad about Brandi; isn't she okay?"

The inspector meant to reassure her, because she was not interested in bawling like a child much longer, but Melissa's questions must've alerted the men to the fact that they had been slightly remiss. Marshall stepped in, saving his wife from the need to explain her fears.

"Mom has had a stressful night; she had a very big job to do; she's just letting off a little steam…" this was a good assumption, and Mary saw him guide the second grader away from her seated form, out of the fray. "Don't forget Brandi's her sister; she was probably a little freaked out too…

'A little' was the understatement of the century, but mention of her mother being the receiver of her new cousin sparked additional interest in Melissa.

"Marshall said you caught Matt when he came out!" her green eyes were so intense behind her glasses. "Was it hard?"

"Um…it was…it was a little hard…" Mary used her words and sniffled, running a finger under her nose. "He was slow at first, but then he came really fast and I was worried I was going to drop him…" she decided to leave out the bit about him being unresponsive.

"She did us all proud," Mark's chest was puffing out from across the room. "But, you know Missy Jean; I still need some help cleaning up in the bedroom; why don't you come with me?"

The woman tried to smile at him, tried to show she was grateful for him giving her time alone with Marshall, but she wasn't sure the muscles on her face were working correctly. Fortunately, her daughter went without complaint, although still glancing surreptitiously over her shoulder at her waterlogged mother. In the back of her mind, she hoped Mark would be careful about handling everything that was left from the delivery, but that was probably what the trash bag Mary had seen earlier was for.

Marshall looked oddly frustrated once he was at one with his wife, something that Mary couldn't understand even through her murky, muddled brain. But, once he sat down next to her on the coffee table and started to speak, she realized where he was coming from.

"Mary, we were being insensitive…" he took one of her hands in both of his own, and she recognized that the person he was aggravated with was himself. "I'm sorry; we had the luxury of getting to enjoy the rainbow, but didn't have to face the storm that came before…"

"We _all_ faced the storm…" she groaned, not going to have him build her up to make her sound better than she really was. "We were _all_ in the storm; don't pretend otherwise…"

"Well, I meant the figurative storm," he clarified, and she could feel him compressing her hand now. "And, while it may be true that we were in this race together, you were the one that ran the anchor…"

All of his analogies were familiar, but hearing him honor her this way just made her feel worse. All she felt she'd done was get her sister through an extremely narrow escape, and none too gracefully. Suddenly, everything that had happened as she lay perched on her haunches, trying to cradle her fragile nephew, came rushing back in a fleet. His blue skin, his pasted eyes, his limp, slippery body that she'd nearly lost hold of while she was willing him to cry were just the tip of the iceberg. Marshall's unprecedented comfort was going to break her, and the sobbing she'd already begun was like the gush of rain they had battled against that night.

"I thought he was dead…I thought he'd died; he wouldn't breathe…" until now, Mary didn't even know that-that had been her fear, and the thought of it made her eyes burn with another flood of tears. "…I knew I shouldn't have touched him before he was even born…"

"That was my fault…" Marshall seemed manic to take some portion of the blame. "That was totally my fault; I was wrong when I had you fool with his eyes and his nose…you're supposed to do that after and my knowledge was entirely flawed. The heat of the moment, I wasn't thinking…"

But, the blonde was making headway now; the pictures were clear as day and she wanted fervently for someone to grasp what she'd seen, what kind of unwanted power she had-had to bring Matt into the world without incident.

"I could've sworn I sat there for hours with him just trying to get him to make a sound…" exaggerating felt good and, besides, thirty seconds really had felt like sixty minutes. "…He didn't even seem like a real person; it was like a doll and no matter what I did he wouldn't breathe…I still don't know how I got him to; it probably wasn't me, he probably just…"

"Mary…" his voice was gentler now, less pressing.

One of his large hands was still caressing her shaking one, and he waited until she had clamped down on some of her hysterics before soldering on. Even then, he patted her hair and spoke in a soothing, reassuringly tranquil way – a way that was all Marshall.

"His umbilical cord was compressed slightly…they must not have told you that…" by 'they' she supposed he meant the paramedics. "…It had stretched and squeezed a little too much and it was cutting off some of his blood flow, which was why he stayed purple and probably why it took him a minute or so to start breathing…"

"Is…is that why that guy asked me if I had tried to cut his cord?" the light bulb went on, her watery eyes sparkling into Marshall's pale blue ones.

"Yes, probably," he determined. "But, it's actually really common and usually not a big deal; monitors catch it in no time flat, but as we didn't have those…"

"But, maybe I messed with it when I was trying to hold him, maybe I…"

"No, it is no one's fault," her husband persisted with a shake of his head. "Mary, don't 'what if' this to death, okay? What you did was incredible; you delivered Matt with almost zero complications and kept Brandi safe too. You were calm, and you did everything you could've possibly done to help both of them. Don't underestimate the kind of role you played…"

"I never could've done it without you…you're the one who knew everything…"

"I had the benefit of being able to be removed from the situation," he reminded her humbly. "We were a hell of a team, but you would've handled it with or without me; I don't doubt that for a second…"

"I just…I wanted so badly to do it right and it was…"

The memories it had invoked for her, the flashbacks it had created, staring at a struggling, helpless baby were too strong. She had tried to squash them, tried to tell herself it was terror for her sister and nephew combined that had suddenly turned her into such a basket case, but knew deep in her heart that wasn't the only reason she was losing her marbles.

And, with a self-indulgent sob, she confessed, "It was Melissa in the NICU all over again…"

Saying it out loud was enough to truly break her in two, and the trauma of the experience overcame her. Mortified for Marshall to see her this way, she tried to shield her flowing eyes in her hands again, but he wouldn't let her. Patting her arms down by her wrists, he cast her attempt aside and pulled her sideways into his chest, nuzzling her head under his chin not unlike Peter had done with Brandi in the throes of labor.

It was an unusual impression the woman had as she sat there, melting down when she'd wanted to for hours, but her fright was suddenly mixed curiously with warmth she hadn't expected to feel. It was cozy and secure in Marshall's arms, but it wasn't even his hug that was really doing her good. It was so wonderful, so freeing to have someone understand, and for that someone to be him. And, she was about to find out just how clued in he really was.

"I'm sure it was terrible for you to think even for a moment that he hadn't made it…" he would not discount that split-second dismay. "That you were able to keep your head when that was what you believed is amazing…"

"He was so still and so flimsy…so much like Missy; I never thought I'd have to go through that again…"

Marshall rubbed her back from where he sat above her, "I know it hurts to think about. It's hard for me too. Watching them try to resuscitate Missy when she wouldn't breathe after she was born was one of the most petrifying moments in my life…"

Mary did not even think about what he was saying; it was simply so gratifying to have him share in her grief over what might have been, over what _had_ been eight years before. Talking it out had never aided so much.

"I…I don't know how Brandi did it…" this, too, she could not wrap her head around and she discerned her husband kissing her temple as her cries subsided and dried. "I mean…nothing to take the edge off; not a thing, and with the pain she was in…" it was suddenly so profound – otherworldly, even. "…I mean I was numb to the bone when I had Melissa; there's no telling how I would've dealt with labor and God knows what else…"

"Brandi was a champ, there is no denying, but don't sell yourself short…" Marshall encouraged. "A placental abruption isn't exactly pain-free either, and you had nothing to lighten the load on that…"

"But…but, still…I never would've thought she had it in her…"

"Well, times of emergency often bring out the tigers in us; so don't think that…"

"Wait…"

Something had clicked as Mary's dread had begun to ebb away. It was as though her mind was on a delay, and yet as she went over what she had just heard a second time; she knew what had been said. But, it didn't add up – something was amiss, and Mary was too groggy to process, to try and figure out where the communication had broken down. Her sense of logic was pretty skewed at the moment, and so perhaps she had misunderstood; it was the only explanation.

She forced herself to pull away from Marshall and stared up into his exquisitely handsome face, puzzlement still visible in his glittering eyes above his beard. She matched his look of incomprehension with one of her own, eyes narrowed, holding him at arm's length as though to study him – to make sure he was really _him_.

"They…they had to resuscitate Melissa?" this was brand new to her after eight long years.

"Yeah, but she came around, no harm done at this point…"

"But…but I didn't know that…" her words were getting messy, her head racing to put all the pieces together. "I…I never saw them do that…"

"Well, it only lasted for…"

But, Mary didn't let him finish, "And…who told you I had a placental abruption? I never told you that."

"Well, nobody had to tell me; I was there. I…"

He seemed to realize it at the exact same moment she did; the stock of past days had rushed back in without his ever recognizing it. And, while his wife's face was one of shocked, dizzying hope, his only crept into a slow, brilliant smile.

"I remember."

And now, she was crying all over again, but her hand was over her mouth instead of her eyes and she was laughing the same warbling, drunken laugh that Brandi had expelled when she'd seen her son for the first time just an hour ago. It was the words she had longed to hear, the words she never could've been certain would ever come to pass. She always knew she would love him to the bitter, grueling end even if he forever saw her as only his snarky, sarcastic partner, but no. He had given her the perfect gift to replace the angst she hadn't been able to get rid of when it came to fretting over her sweet baby sister and even sweeter baby boy.

It was better that it had never been conscious; that it happened without warning, that all of a sudden he was back – all of him or some of him, but more himself than he'd been in a week that had lasted an eternity.

The man was clearly endeared watching Mary well up and then some, but he didn't hold back; his wife never would've guessed there was more – more to treasure, more that they couldn't take for granted.

"I brought you lilacs when you were in the hospital after Melissa was born."

Even _she_ had not remembered that, but the minute it was out in the open she knew he was right; the memories flooded for her as much as they were flooding for him.

"You told me how they don't just have to be purple and to note they were not…"

"What was it?" he literally scratched his head, squinting in bemused recognition. "Not…celebratory flowers? Not…?"

"Congratulatory. You said they weren't congratulatory."

"What were they, then?" he asked in order to put the rest together.

Mary laughed through her tears, "I don't know."

"Neither do I!"

She was the one to hug him this time, bawling in earnest, dripping all over the back of his shirt, her mouth half-buried in the enclosure of her own arms around his neck. Marshall just chuckled and rubbed her shoulder, knowing she was well aware that he had not been ambushed by a fleet of reminiscence, that more would hopefully come with time, but that this was more than enough for now. His morning with Melissa, seeing her cherished dollhouse and all the members of their blended family, had sparked something in him – like the name Matthew. And, the real Matt and the branch he and his partner had played in escorting him into their lives without a glitch had reminded him so closely of their tempo, their ability to function as a single unit.

Tonight, he had been able to _feel_, rather than remember, what it was to be Mary's husband; their connection strung like a tethered, taut line, a heartstring unable to be severed by the sharpest of knives.

"I missed you…" Mary trilled, stifled but audible. "I missed _you_…" not the version of him they'd all tried to adjust to and work with, but him.

"It was like we were back on a case tonight…" he mused over her shoulder. "The push and pull…the rush…the fire…the reliance…the trust…"

"No…" she squeezed him just for good measure. "It was better."

And then, just when she thought things couldn't improve anymore, the woman looked up and standing in the hall, Mark long forgotten, was Melissa. Mary had no idea how long she'd been watching them, but she'd been quiet as a mouse, and yet her face spoke for itself. She beamed like the brightest star, the most radiant sun; the very frames on her glasses twinkled and her eyes, identical to her mother's, stood out, a lush forest green in her adorable face.

And, she'd seen Mary looking. Whether she'd heard the exchange between the couple was unclear, but she knew enough to know what was going on. Shedding her skin and, for all intents and purposes, showing they'd made it through the storm in more ways than one, she flashed her mother a bold and brash thumb's up.

Allowing Marshall to believe she was giggling because of his newfound discoveries, Mary said what she said next with a thumb's up of her own – and with both her husband and daughter in mind.

"I love you."

The hesitation was gone; the confusion had passed, just like the pastel colors of a rainbow shimmering pale, but clear on the horizon.

"I love you too."

XXX

**A/N: Now that things are looking up for Mary and Marshall, I feel like it is time to tell you all that this story is coming to an end – just a few chapters to go! I am missing you all already! **


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N: I feel like I have to apologize for some of these chapters being so long! If they're boring, they must be that much harder to get through LOL! I don't know what makes me elaborate so thoroughly in certain installments.**

XXX

Sunday morning was a new dawn that Mary had never been able to picture when she'd been put through the wringer on Saturday night. Nonetheless, she woke up to a weak autumn sunshine penetrating the living room curtains where she had fallen asleep on the floor in the wee hours, Marshall on the couch above her. They had stayed up talking and, as neither could brave the bed with all its sheets and blankets in the washing machine, they'd camped out together; Mary was so tired, her back didn't even protest the hard ground.

The world outside reflected the crashes and booms from the evening prior; in some ways, it looked as though a tornado had ripped through, only all the houses were still intact. Even so, there were fallen tree limbs everywhere you looked and every patch of grass was windswept the same direction, like a mower had gone through and flattened every blade to the east. Leaves clogged the gutters and the storm sewers were backed up with debris, but at least the roads had finally washed themselves out. The streets sparkled and shone with wetness, a small bit of twinkle in the rest of ransacked Albuquerque.

Bedraggled and sleepy, but all relatively contented, Mary, Marshall, and Melissa shared a family breakfast that was reminiscent of the one they had engaged in the day of Marshall's accident. Although, this one didn't include Mary wringing her hands over Missy's school woes, but did feature Marshall at the stove, flipping bacon over his shoulder to a scrambling little girl. Mary couldn't say for sure whether he remembered this ritual or not, but it seemed ingrained in him one way or another, and nothing could stop him from producing a smile on Melissa's face.

And then, once they were fed, dressed, and looking marginally presentable, the three of them set off to the hospital to pay a visit to Brandi and Matthew, Mary hoping fervently all the while that no qualified physician had found anything wrong with the little boy or new mother in her absence.

It was strange to be back in the hospital after she'd just been on so many occasions to see Marshall while he was laid up. But, she could safely say that she enjoyed the sense of reluctant anticipation better than the consternation she had so often experienced when he had been confined to the four walls. Melissa seemed to be ensconced in some hovering, euphoric bubble, twirling down the hallways, latching her fingers onto the edges of the windows where the newborns were nestled in the nursery. Mary had enlisted her to carry the bouquet of flowers they were bringing to Brandi, and she was constantly putting them down to stop and look at the infants.

On one such occasion, when they were mere feet from Brandi's designated room, Mary finally asked her what had her so curious.

"Seriously, sweets, what is the deal?" she stepped up beside her to peer through the glass at the rows of little ones, some screaming, some fidgeting, some snoozing without a care in the world. "You've seen babies before."

Her daughter was standing on tiptoe, nose pressed to the glass, her spectacles smashed up against the surface so they were in danger of breaking. Just to make sure she wasn't missing anything, Mary joined her at her side, Marshall staggering along behind them. His jaunt the night before without his crutches had made his leg and ankle stiff, and so he was back to relying on them today.

"I don't know…" the second grader apparently couldn't explain her fascination, and yet also couldn't take her eyes away. "I used to kind of think all babies looked the same. But, Matt doesn't look like any of these babies. Yesterday, he was all purple and slimy – he had all that stuff on him…"

"Well, that was before we could clean him up," Mary explained. "I didn't want to touch him too much because I'm definitely not a doctor, girly. I thought I would leave that job to the professionals."

"Wait until you see Matt today," Marshall chimed in. "He'll look more like these little cherubs; I'm sure of it."

"But, he's still _unique_," Melissa emphasized with a flutter of her eyelashes in her step-father's direction. "Because, we're all different, right? Isn't that what makes us interesting?"

"What a smarty pants you are," the man tousled her hair. "And, not just different on the outside – but on the inside too."

"Hmm…" the child hummed in thought, glancing back at the window, but Mary still wasn't sure that she was just staring at the babies because they were more spotless than her cousin. "I just wondered…"

Both partners waited for her to go on, because that couldn't have been the end of her thought, but distraction of the newborns prevented her from concluding things. Mary was patient, even sharing a grin with Marshall when they watched Missy raise her eyebrows and wave at some of the infants in the front row, but eventually she had to know what had caused this attraction.

"You wonder what?" she goaded, poking Melissa in the back to get her to turn around, and she was pleased when she dropped off her toes onto the ground.

Scrunching her nose so that her glasses bunched up around her eyes, she appeared to think long and hard about how she wanted to get this out, but thinking had never been a problem for Melissa.

"Well…I just think…that all those babies…" she gestured over her shoulder. "…They all look so perfect."

Mary smiled against her will. She had never considered herself one to be susceptible to the supposed charm of tiny people, but her daughter had a point. At this moment, there was nothing wrong with any one of the children residing in front of her; they were all flawless and unspoiled, full of unlimited potential and promise.

"And, I guess they actually _are_ perfect right now…" she seemed to be reading her mother's thoughts. "They're…special, but…the same too."

This had likely come from Marshall's comment about how each person was exceptional, but when life had just begun, they pretty much all started with the same possibilities. Home life and environment and obstacles as well as triumphs along the way would determine whether they fell behind or soared ahead.

"I guess I just think it's strange because…well…" Missy's cheeks reddened slightly, like she wasn't sure of what she was about to say, but that didn't stop her. "…I mean, they won't _stay_ perfect, will they?"

This girl might be pure, but she was also realistic. With a mother like Mary, she could really be no other way, and instead of filling her with platitudes about how it was all in how you looked at things, that even if what Melissa said was true they didn't have to highlight it, she echoed her thoughts.

"No, because nobody's perfect," she murmured softly. "Everybody has flaws. This is as wholesome as they'll ever be…" suddenly, she felt the need to take a closer look as well. "Kind of a bummer, when you think about it, huh?" a sardonic chuckle.

"Nah, that's not what I meant…" and she had gotten her optimism from her beloved Marshall, standing above looking proud that a child so young could have such a mature conversation. "I just wanted to see them when they're like this…when they don't have anything that they're scared of or worried about and they can't do anything wrong; everything they do is right; it must be so nice to feel like that…"

"Well, I never thought of it that way, sweets," Mary admitted who, truthfully, had not ever considered that babies could feel much of anything. "But, you're right. We should enjoy them while they're little – and, lots of people do, but I don't think they realize sometimes that it's for the reasons you just said."

"I guess I was perfect too before you learned that I couldn't see very well and that I would trip a lot. I suppose you always knew I'd be small, but…"

"_But_…" Marshall cut in for the first time, bending down and lifting his little girl off the ground, abandoning his crutches temporarily. He pointed her toward the enormous window so she could see all the bassinets from above. "Those things don't matter, because there are so many other things that you can do so well. Think about it…"

With a free arm, he waved it across the expanse in front of them, a world topped with hats and booties and blankets. And, even though she could only see the back of them now, the image was a captivating one to Mary. She might never have another child of her own, but watching Marshall educate her daughter on the wonders of new life, a blank canvas like freshly fallen snow, was magnificent. Matt was bringing out the best in all of them.

"Every single one of these kids will struggle someday – some more than others," Marshall professed. "But, instead of deciding that those struggles just make them imperfect, the moms and dads that really love them will work with those problems and, even better, they'll learn to celebrate what makes them shine too. Just like they're doing when they look at them right now…"

His wife thought back to the way he had described Missy when she had been in this position, in the NICU rather than in the warm, bright nursery. She wasn't sure if the words would ever come back to him in this lifetime, but she was beginning to see that it didn't make a difference because he was living his philosophy out right in front of her.

She saw wires and tubes and that haunting sound of the ventilator chunking never fully left her. _She_ had seen the defects, the barriers in the future. He, Marshall, had relished the here and now – just as Marshall would.

"_To me…it's just a minor setback. It doesn't have anything to do with who she is, who she'll be – the fact that she's breathing and her heart is beating. It's huge. Think about it…she's eight weeks shy of those plump kids in the nursery and she's holding her own. It's incredible."_

And, that was the truth of the matter, Mary thought. It had taken Marshall as well as her preemie to teach her that balance and bad eyes and a baby-sized frame had little, if anything, to do with Melissa at all. It was her heart and her mind they coveted and Marshall, with his memories or without, had never stopped operating under that way of life.

"I bet Brandi and Peter think Matt is perfect too," Missy was saying, nodding zealously as she said so. "And, they're right, aren't they?"

"I say they are," Marshall concurred. "And, they're a pair of those 'good moms and dads' that will always see his strong points through his weaker ones down the road…"

"Moms and Marshalls too," Melissa made a joke.

The man laughed out loud at this, making the little girl blush slightly, but he knew what she meant and Mary did too. There were those traditional families out there, like the one Matthew would live in, that had one mother and one father, but there were those 'mom and Marshall' worlds too, equally as stable if they had a proficient captain at the helm.

"Well, how could I forget that?" he chastised himself. "But, enough of all this heavy stuff! These itty-bitty minis are cute…" he winked at the babies in a gentlemanly way. "But, between you and me, they don't hold a candle to our Little Man Alpert, so what do you say we go see him?"

"Okay!" Melissa agreed as he dropped her to the floor and she pushed herself up, unsteadily, but able to regain her footing in no time flat. "Don't worry, mom; I'll be careful…" she called as she ran ahead of them.

It was funny that she'd said as much because, for the first time, Mary hadn't planned to remind her to watch her step. Marshall's speech had affected her as well as their all-but perfect kid. Deciding that she was safe trying to scout out Brandi's room, the mother turned to Marshall to make sure he was making his way along just as steadily, for he had to re-grasp his crutches once he had let Melissa down.

"You got it?" she asked, stepping over and offering an arm, which he didn't take. "I guess all that running around last night took it out of the old peg-leg here…"

"Well, it was far from 'running,' but yes," he agreed, swinging himself forward with his wife by his side. "A small price to pay, though, when the prize is witnessing the miracle of life…"

"Okay, now, I let you get away with all that saccharine, syrupy, sugary crap a few seconds ago; you've reached your limit," Mary wagged a finger in his face, but he wasn't fooled and even smirked at her attempt to downplay words that had so clearly had an impact on her.

"That is some alliteration," he observed first. And then, "But, remove the mask, inspector, because I saw you staring all dewy-eyed at me and the little one when I spoke about the smallest among us…"

"Get rid of 'dewy-eyed' and I might admit to that."

"Fair enough."

The compromise felt good and they walked in silence for another second or so, Mary able to save face, Marshall able to feel proud that he had spouted something that his partner had actually taken to heart. Melissa was still ahead of them, peeking at each room number posted beside the door, and the woman could tell by the digits that they were getting close to Brandi's. The quiet was a rare, comfortable passage and Mary didn't feel the urge to fill it with mindless chit-chat. And yet, she should've known that no chit-chat on Marshall's part qualified as 'mindless.'

"Does it bother you to see those babies in the nursery?"

His question surprised her, and her instinct was to say no, and why would they. But, the longer she thought about it, she realized 'no' was too strong. In some ways, however, 'yes' was too strong as well. Her feelings lay somewhere in-between.

"A little…" she admitted honestly. "It sure did after Melissa was born; I could barely look at them. Do you remember that?"

"No, but I can imagine."

"I guess it's still a little upsetting – the fact that she never had it as easy as those kids do. But, it's like you were saying…" both two minutes ago and eight years in the past. "She was perfect the way she was; her ability to overcome was perfect. And, anymore, I spend far too much time looking at what can be honed rather than what she already has…"

"You're a mom," Marshall was going to build her up, not make her feel guilty for wanting more for her child. "You worry. You want her to be happy."

"But, she is…" she would do well to remind herself of it. "I mean, I know the last week hadn't been the best indication, but she _is_ happy. She always has been. I like to think I'm giving her more opportunities to be happy – I mean, with this class and everything…"

"You're trying," he emphasized, and Mary had the feeling that if he could've taken her hand in that moment, he would've. As it was, he settled for smiling softly, fingers swinging limply from the slats in his crutches. "No one can ask for more than that."

Some strange part of the blonde wanted to argue with him, to say that sometimes simply making an effort wasn't enough. But, then she realized how lucky she was to have a husband that so valued putting in the time and energy even if the results weren't what you desired in the end. It was an attitude she could stand to adopt, and yet one that she needn't concern herself with passing on to Missy, because she was pretty sure she already embodied the mentality of trying and trying and trying again.

And, speaking of Missy, she halted any further discussion her mother and step-father were going to have by waving from a door she had stopped in front of, excitement written all over her face.

"It's here! I found it!" she pointed at what had to be Brandi's room, standing on tiptoe once again to try and peer into the small sliver of window. "I can't see her, but it's the right number…"

Mary soon joined her to make the confirmation, and as she was tall enough, she could see that her sister was indeed inside, resting in bed while Peter wandered around the frame. At the far end, she spotted Jinx in a chair in front of the window, cradling a bundle of blankets that could only be her grandson.

"Looks like you've found the place," she said. "Better head inside…"

"We don't have to knock?"

"I don't think so," Mary informed her with a laugh. "Peter knows we're coming; I called him before we left."

And so, with no more instructions needed, Melissa clasped the handle and pulled, although the door was a little too heavy for her to manage and Mary had to help her out. But, once the crack was small enough for her to slip through, she shot inside like a dart, Mary and Marshall following a little more slowly behind.

It didn't take long for their presence to be announced, however, because the little girl was hard to miss. To her credit, she didn't actually run to her cousin first, but to Brandi, which Mary thought was sweet considering just how much she was already in love with Matt.

"Well, hey there!" Peter called to the room at large, stopping at the foot of the bed to take everyone in.

Jinx somehow tore her eyes away from the baby to waggle her fingers and gush, "Oh, Mary, darling! And Marshall!" there was surprise etched in her tone, for she didn't know they had turned a corner. "How lovely to see you both – give me just a moment…"

Mary had the feeling it was going to be more than a moment, what with the way Jinx was mooning over Matthew, but that was fine by her. Marshall busied himself by going over to shake hands with Peter, which was awkward considering his crutches, but they were deep in conversation before long. Mary was more interested in checking on her daughter to make sure she wasn't mauling Brandi, who needed all the recovery time she could get.

"Sweets, be gentle, all right?" she laid a hand on her little girl's shoulder, leaving her husband behind. "Brandi's probably sore…"

Immediately, Melissa pulled her fingers out of her aunt's, looking worried that she had caused some unknown damage Brandi had been too polite to mention. Mary was a little disconcerted to see that her sister wasn't sitting up, but was lying back in her pillows; she looked pleased, but weak, and she smiled at Missy to show no harm had been done.

"Give me that hand back; you're not hurting me…" she insisted in a would-be-joking voice, her timbre low as she cleared her throat. "I'm fine, honey; I'm just a little tired…"

"More than 'a little' I would guess…" Mary managed to get a greeting in over her repetitions to Melissa that she be cautious. Leaning down, she laid a kiss on Brandi's cheek and then said, "I'd say you're entitled, though." After she saw Brandi grin softly, she continued, "It's good to see you, Squish."

"You too…" she reciprocated. "All of you."

"How's Matt?" Melissa jumped in now that pleasantries were out of the way. Glancing over her shoulder at where Jinx was cradling the baby, she went on, "I'm calling him Matt, and so is mom, but are you calling him Matthew since that's his real name?"

"Mmm…we're using a little of both…" Brandi murmured, referring to herself and Peter. "Kind of like you, right? Mom calls you Melissa, but the boys tend to call you Missy…"

"Yeah, only Mark calls me Missy Jean, and Matty Harold sounds sort of funny…"

The woman actually laughed at this, although Mary could tell at once that she considered it a mistake because she cringed and fluttered her fingers at her lower half, though did not grab onto anything. After breathing deeply once or twice, she turned back to her niece to respond.

"I don't think we'll be using that version of his name…" she conceded. "But, I know he'll have more than enough nicknames with Mary running around…"

"Not as good as 'Squish' surely," the older sister teased. "I mean that one takes the cake."

"If you say so…"

Brandi sighed, clearly trying to put up a brave face for the child, but Mary could see her thinning and decided that Melissa could certainly occupy herself with her grandmother and cousin. The inspector wanted to get the skinny on what was going on with the new mom, who was looking more worn out than she'd anticipated. The idea was a little frightening, as she'd assumed they would be basking in a healing glow, although if she thought about it she realized how foolish it was to expect that. After all, her recuperation certainly hadn't been a picnic.

"Listen, girly; if you work your magic on Jinx, she might let you hold Matt…" Mary nodded toward the window where the brunette was sitting. "Promise you'll be careful and calm and all that jazz; she'll lap it right up…"

Missy craned her neck to look up at her, "But, I won't drop him, will I?"

"No, Jinx will be there to watch you," Mary promised. "It's easy. Put one hand behind his head and one hand along his back to support his butt, and you're good."

"Okay…" tentative hope showed in her face, and she side-stepped Mary fairly quickly to scoot on over to Jinx, who immediately said hello with a smooch on her cheek, sure to leave lipstick prints behind.

Glad that Marshall was engaged with Peter and that her daughter could be counted on to dote on her new cousin, Mary was free to pull up a chair sitting at Brandi's bedside, which meant that she got a better view of her face.

Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, although it was falling in wisps down her neck because it was just barely long enough to be contained by a rubber band. Her eyes were dull and sleepy-looking, although she continued to smile, which Mary hoped was genuine. The once-rotund belly she had sported had morphed into a lumpy, misshapen midsection, which was mostly concealed by blankets. There was something innocent and vulnerable about her to Mary and she again had that sensation that she was looking back at the baby sister she had all-but raised so many years ago.

"You look kind of beat…" Mary was blunt, but softened it by tousling Brandi's hair affectionately. "How are you feeling?"

"Mmm…" she hummed indecisively. "Better than I was, I guess…"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah…" she sighed, allowing her head to sink a little lower into her pillow as she turned to one side. "I lost…more blood than I should've at the house…" she must've been informed of this when they'd finally made it to the hospital the previous night, although Mary remembered Marshall saying something about it before that. "…I'm okay, but they pressed on my stomach so much in the ambulance I thought they were trying to kill me…"

"Jesus…" the older hadn't expected this, and was at least glad Brandi had-had Peter during those trying moments. "That's rough…"

"I stopped though, so that's good…" her words were optimistic, but her voice was less persuasive. "But, I tore when I was pushing too, and they had to stitch me up…"

"Stitch you up where?" Mary asked before she could stop herself, her eyebrows rising.

This earned her what was likely the most exasperated look Brandi could muster in her condition, which so clearly said that the older Shannon was being dim as a low-watt bulb.

"Where do you think?" she batted back semi-contemptuously.

Mary crafted an appropriately gruesome face in an attempt to make up for her stupidity and inquired, "So, how'd that go over?"

"They tried to numb me up, but it still really hurt…" her eyes traveled down the blankets, as if she were picturing the spot, and Mary had to wonder how much women in labor were really expected to endure before they got to surrender to being knocked out for the long haul. "…And, it pinches now when I laugh or move too much…"

"And you don't even have battle scars in a visible place to show for it," Mary commented, disgruntled. "What's fair about that?"

The younger sister smirked, "I don't care about the scars. I'm just worried about how good I'll feel when they send me home; I can't be this tired trying to take care of Matt…"

"You have Peter; he can afford to take time off to help you," the other understood her qualms, but wanted to remind her that there were options besides her being thrown into the deep end of the pool. "Plus, Marshall's not going to be back at the office full time for awhile yet, and you know he'd die to get his hands on a munchkin…"

"But, I don't want to put you guys out; Marshall isn't fully recovered yet either…"

"I thought you would've learned by now, Squish…" Mary murmured with a shake of her head, followed by a grin of her own. "We Shannons don't ever get to start at the top. We have to claw our way there. But, you know we come out stronger because of it."

Her little 'get up and go' speech was met with a mixed response from Brandi. She looked like she wanted to take on the challenge she was being presented with, but there was no denying she was exhausted already, and right now she had everyone waiting at her beck and call. There was no telling how she would fare once she was out on her own, or at least close to it. But, if anything had convinced the once-cynical Mary that Brandi could overcome whatever was set in front of her, it was the events of the night before.

But, her own competence didn't seem to be what was on the ailing one's mind, but just the opposite.

"Is it bad that I wish things had been different last night?" she whispered, sounding embarrassed to say what she was thinking aloud. "Shouldn't I just be grateful that Matt is all right, and not care about how things were 'supposed' to happen, or…?"

"I'd care, if it were me," Mary granted her. "In fact, I _did_ care – when I had my own kid. I spent I don't know how much time brooding about what should've been. If I'd had more time to stay pregnant, if I hadn't gone to work that day – hell, what would've happened if Melissa _hadn't_ come early? Would I have even kept her?"

"You would've," Brandi sounded certain. "You know you would've."

"Easy for you to say," the taller scoffed, remembering just how aimless she had been during that time. "But, the point is, it's natural to think about what might've been. It sure as hell wasn't what I thought I'd be doing on a Saturday night, but I figured it out, and so did you…"

"But, I might've been alone, and if I had…"

"But, you weren't," Mary insisted firmly, and she fished around for her hand beneath the blankets this time to show that she was serious in what she was saying. "Believe me, Brandi; I wondered the same thing when I was trapped in that fire. I even said it to Marshall way back then; I asked him what would've happened if he hadn't come in after me, but there's no sense worrying about it. I know it doesn't make it easy to just cast away, but it's true. He _did_ find me and we _were_ able to be there for you, and it's lucky we were…"

"You guys were incredible…" she breathed, not remarking on everything else her big sister had doled out for her to chew on. "You were so chill, and Marshall…" she shook her head, a look of awe on her weary face. "I…I had no idea he knew so much about babies…"

"He was pretty unbelievable," all she could do was concur. "Watching him take charge the way he did…it was like we were back on the same wavelength again."

"Yeah, I noticed that, believe it or not," Brandi claimed, perhaps thinking that no one would've anticipated her picking up on those tiny signals between her sister and brother-in-law. "If you weren't so busy trying to keep me from falling apart, I guess you probably would've been over the moon about it…"

"Ah, we had time for that later," she winked deviously, hoping to see Brandi loosen up even when she didn't feel like it. "Once I kind of…rode down the wave that I'd been on with you…"

"Tell me about it…" the shorter picked up the thread. "I mean, you probably felt differently than I did…"

"Terrified instead of ecstatic…"

"But, I was so thrilled everything was working out that I didn't even realize how much pain I was still in until the paramedics started manhandling me…"

"Yeah, they're good at that…"

"It made me wish I could've been on that high a little longer," she forfeited with a sad little chuckle. "I got…dizzy and loopy and…I can't even remember half of it now."

It was nice to be a pair of sisters that related to one another, Mary thought as Brandi finished what she was saying. Having a friend instead of adversary was novel for her, and yet she could hardly say she was against it. For her entire life, Mary had looked at Brandi as someone she needed to look after, someone she had to point in the right direction; she was constantly fretting about what moronic choice she might make or what dangerous path she would stray down. But, she was a mother now; something told her that those days of the irresponsible Brandi who had stayed with Chuck out of fear of not being in love were over. And, as parents, the two of them finally had something in common.

"Well, the worst parts will start to fade…" Mary was wise when it came to leaving your demons behind you. "What went right will stand out more because you want it to – because you want to remember the good instead of the bad."

"Was that how it was with you and Missy?"

"Well…"

The inspector wanted to respond with a sound 'yes' but that wasn't entirely honest. As had been demonstrated by Marshall earlier, it had taken her some time to come to terms with all the positives versus the negatives. And yet, if there was anything that would probably stay conflicting when it came to her and Brandi, it was that one would always expect to see the sun shining through the clouds in the end, and that someone wasn't Mary.

"Kind of…" she landed somewhere in the middle. "I learned to be appreciative that I had a daughter that was alive, because the alternative was too horrifying to think about. But, I think I'm still learning that some days."

There was a first time for everything, and Brandi being the one to give advice on motherhood certainly fell in that category.

"Just because you're grateful that Missy is here and okay doesn't mean you can't wish for more than that…"

"Well, you must be right because I feel like that's all I do," this took Mary back to her conversation with Marshall, how she had just declared to be more accepting of the way things were, and here she was contradicting herself all over again. "I just feel like I never know what 'more' I'm supposed to be looking for," her grammar was abysmal, but Brandi would understand. "I shouldn't want more for her at home, because she's got it made. But, I should want more for her at school because she deserves it, only not when it comes to her being tiny and practically blind and as uncoordinated as an elephant trying to do ballet…"

"Mare…" Brandi chuckled in cutting her off, the smallest of grimaces passing in her face. "Don't you know things are never going to be perfect for her everywhere? I mean, I thought you always said perfection is overrated, anyway."

It was as if she had heard the family of three talking in the hallway, had been eavesdropping on their discussions about flawless qualities and how old you were before those qualities started to grow faint. It seemed that Brandi, like Marshall, knew how to accept what you couldn't change and was prepared to polish the parts you wanted to shine.

"Things won't be simple for Matt either, but are they for anyone?" she mused philosophically.

"I thought _I_ was supposed to be telling _you_ that life is a crapshoot, not the other way around."

"You have told me," she reminded her. "Many times. You think I don't listen?"

Her smile was more sincere now, like she was teasing Mary, and perhaps a portion of her was. But, what had started out as the older sister reassuring that younger that playing the 'what if' game wasn't a choice had ended in Brandi turning the tables on her. She'd shown the supposedly more realistic of the Shannons that she was bothered by life's upsets like anyone else, but that it was better to acknowledge them and find your way around and through them, rather than overstress on the particulars when there was simply no point.

"I think you're looking for too much from all of this, Mare…"

"What is 'all of this?'" she wrinkled her nose, not following.

"From…_everything_…"

"Because _that's_ specific…"

"I just mean that…your life is _here_, it's now," still this was vague, but as she rambled on, Mary began to understand more and more what she was getting at. "You built so much for Missy; you built a home for her, just like Peter and I are going to do for Matthew. If trying for something beyond all that works out – like putting Missy in that class or whatever – then it's great, but if it doesn't you can always try something else. It's not the end…"

"I didn't think it was."

"Well, good," she seemed satisfied she had convinced Mary. "Because, you faced the end when she was born – you faced it just a week ago when Marshall got hit. Bratty kids and advanced classes are not even close to that…"

"You faced it too," Mary wasn't going to let her once-ditzy little sister behave like the more mature one for the entire duration of their discussion. "Yesterday…"

"Maybe," she shrugged modestly, but her cheeks went rosy at the compliment. "I don't know, but I don't think I was finished or even anywhere near it…"

"After all, those broads in the covered wagons did it, why couldn't you?"

"Well, thanks for the sympathy," Brandi chortled, and even though she still looked uncomfortable, Mary was pleased to see that she was not truly offended by her sister downplaying her harrowing experience. "And, for a lot more than that. I don't think I got around to saying it last night…"

"You didn't need to say it; it was implied."

"Even so…" Brandi was the one to reach for her fingers this time, with the same goal in mind as Mary when she had compressed her hand; she wanted to accentuate her point. "Thank-you…" her blue eyes twinkled, but she didn't look like she was going to cry, which Mary was glad about. "For everything. And that goes for Peter too; he's been singing your praises all morning…"

"Well, let's not get carried away…" She rolled her eyes, but replied with the proper phrase, "And, you're welcome. Playing doctor was never my favorite game, but for you and Bruiser I would pull out my stethoscope a second time."

And, as if he had heard his quirky nickname as it had always been spoken by his aunt, there was a high coo from the corner, causing both Mary and Brandi to turn their heads and abandon their discombobulated conversation. Brandi was labored in rolling over, but she accomplished it without too many aches.

The scene had changed since Mary had last glanced at the window. Jinx had disappeared and was chatting with Peter by the bathroom door. In the chair that she had occupied was Melissa, Marshall standing over her like a gratified, majestic guard. His chin might've been tipped up if he hadn't been so intent on watching the little girl and boy before him, a picture that it would indeed be very hard to tear your eyes from.

Jinx had clearly relinquished her hold on her grandson and let Melissa take the reins, for she was supporting him in her weedy arms, staring seemingly without blinking into his angelic features. Her tongue was poking between her teeth in unbridled delight and even Marshall couldn't seem to resist waggling his fingers, as if he really hoped a child that was only a day old could appreciate funny faces.

Part of Mary didn't want to interrupt their secluded moment, but a bigger part wanted to step inside it.

"Is he awake, sweets?" she called across the room, strangely proud to see that her child was big enough to hold a baby all on her own. "Can you see his eyes?"

"Yes…" she nodded absently without looking away.

"What color are they?"

"Uh…" it took her a moment to respond, as she was quite distracted. "…Dark…maybe brown?"

"They may lighten up," Marshall contributed. "It's hard to tell for sure when they're brand new like this."

"Do you think he's comfortable, Marshall?" Missy asked, so earnest in wanting to know, so serious; Mary just barely caught a glimpse of Jinx beaming from her corner. "Does he seem happy?"

"Very content," the man assured her. "He's quiet and see the way he's looking at you…" a longer finger extended and brushed the boy's soft cheek. "He obviously feels secure; he knows you'll keep him safe."

"Like mom, huh?"

This startled Mary, but Brandi didn't seem ruffled in the least, and she even glanced over her shoulder at her sister to throw her a touched look. Marshall appeared much the same, and equally as unperturbed by his step-daughter's comment.

"Mom is quite the talent at making people feel safe," he agreed. "That must be where you get it. She's taught you well."

And, as Mary watched the three of them, peacefully uplifted by the accolades she was receiving, she thought again of all that had been said about idealism that day – about striving for excellence and so often not quite reaching the peak. But, looking at Melissa swinging her feet that didn't even touch the floor, strapped in her overalls, enthralled by the newest man in her life, she had to wonder what could possibly top where she found herself to be right now. When you added in Marshall – doting, grinning, just as mesmerized by Matt as he was by Missy – then there could be nothing additional to ask for.

Perfection might be beyond the reach of those over a year old. But, a healthy sister and nephew, a loving husband, boys who would come running at the sound of the alarm, and a daughter dancing between joy and the possibility of change was Mary's world. For once, it was exactly where she wanted to be – leaping into invigorating uncertainty by day and able to come home to safety at night.

XXX

**A/N: Three chapters to go!**


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: I feel like there are too many "explanations" in this chapter to make it very interesting. But, I guess since we are nearing the end that I wanted to wrap a few things up!**

XXX

There was something about fresh, new life that filled Mary with a lightness and energy she couldn't explain. After Missy had gotten her turn cuddling Matt, the first-time-aunt took hers, and while she didn't grow misty, she did feel a lump in her throat looking down into her nephew's precious, swirling eyes, so full of wonder about the big, bright world around him. She was fulfilled to see him squirming and crying and breathing, that compressed umbilical cord and blue skin a distant memory. He was as pink as every baby in the nursery now, and just as loud.

Even Jinx seemed to sense that delight and ease was in the air, because she gave her older daughter only an abbreviated admonishing for neglecting her when Brandi had been in labor. So much had been going on, that Mary had never once thought to call her mother. After all, what could she do but pace and fret in her own home, what with the storm going on? The alternative would've been tooling the flooded roads, and while Jinx might've been a proficient drunk driver, that wasn't a path anybody needed her taking.

But, the morning visit ended up being a fairly short one, for the new mom needed to rest, and Mary suspected she wanted some time with just her husband and son. The inspector couldn't fault her, knowing she was prickly herself when it came to people hovering around her, even if their intentions were good. So, she and Marshall dragged Melissa away from her cousin, promising they would return the next day to see how everyone was holding up.

After a trip to purchase a new pair of glasses for Missy, which were very like her old ones only without the skewed ear piece, the trio finally ventured home. However, they were not in for a lazy Sunday even considering their turbulent Saturday night. Mary must've been feeling audacious, or else that nothing seemed daunting after assuming the unexpected role of OBGYN. Either way, she knew that she had legitimately been able to slide Melissa's conundrum concerning her many fathers to the side, and it was time to face it when she was feeling brave. Others might be able to put it behind them, but she wouldn't soon forget the fight they'd had and she didn't want unresolved issues to crop up down the road. She had enough of those concerning her own father.

And so, after calling Mark to the house, he, Mary, and Marshall set up camp with Melissa at the island, Mary hoping fervently that it didn't look to her like she was about to be grilled. It was supposed to be fairly painless, simply a time to clear everything up, to answer questions. The child had-had her chance alone with Mark, and now she had her chance with all of them. Mary just wished that she could be sure she would use it to her advantage, thus leaving no doubts to fester as the years elapsed.

Mary and Marshall sat on one side of the counter, Mark and Missy on the other. She didn't look nervous, and was busily eating bites of pineapple, uncouthly pulling the strings out of her teeth. Like mother, like daughter.

"Melissa, I wondered if we could talk about something for a few minutes," Mary began smoothly, hands folded in front of her to stop them twitching. "What do you say?"

She shrugged, licking her fingers as she did so, "Sure."

"Look here, Missy Jean," Mark encouraged gently, sliding the bowl of fruit away from her so that she wasn't so distracted. "This is important."

Upon hearing this, the little girl dipped her chin and raised her eyebrows, new glasses tilting down her nose. She looked so sassy and so like Mary that it was frightening.

"_Another_ important talk?" it was as if she simply didn't have time for it. "What's _this_ one about?"

"Well, it's kind of like the talk you and I had yesterday," Mark enlightened her; Mary feeling like yesterday was a long time ago now.

Remembering such a discussion, the child stole a glance at Marshall, and his wife didn't have to guess why. She and she alone knew what she had gone over with Mark, and it likely had much to do with parentage. Anybody as intelligent as Missy didn't want to rock that boat now that they were in calmer waters, and she made this clear when she spoke again.

"Do we have to?" she wondered, her voice not nearly so assertive.

"Yes, we do," Mary had no intentions of making this uncomfortable, but also wanted to be clear that it needed to be done. "We should've had it years ago, frankly. But, better late than never, I suppose."

Mark jumped right on board while he had the chance, not waiting for his daughter to protest again. So far, Marshall had remained quiet, but Mary liked him that way, at least until he had something he deemed substantial to say. He was their guiding force, the west wind softly nudging them forward, whether he knew it or not.

"Missy, when we were at lunch yesterday, we talked a lot about what it means to be a dad – and how I'm your dad not because we share blood, but because I've helped to take care of you and watched you grow up. The same way Marshall and Stan have…" Mark gave a nod to his fellow man here. "You seemed like you really understood that – that you agreed with me. Is that true?"

"Yeah…" the eight-year-old whispered tentatively. "So, what else is there to say?"

"We just want to give you the opportunity to digest everything that we can tell you," Marshall glided in, leaning forward slightly. "I may not be the biggest help in that department, seeing as how my memory is still pretty shoddy, but mom and Mark can clear up anything you might be confused about."

"_Are_ you confused about anything?" Mary wanted to know, not going to let her husbands, both past and present, completely dominate the exchange. "Because, seriously, the whole concept of how people come to be biological parents can be a whopper if you ask me…"

She didn't especially want to have a sex talk with her second grader, but kids learned younger and younger every day. But, she got lucky, because whatever minimal knowledge Melissa had didn't seem to be troubling her; Marshall had schooled her a nominal amount when it came to the basics after Brandi had become pregnant with Matt. Apparently, this was enough for now.

"I don't care about that part," Missy avowed, and the mother distinctly saw Mark breathe a sigh of relief. "But, I was wondering about something…"

"What?" Mary pounced on it immediately, eager to feel like she was contributing.

"Well…" her gaze traveled to her bowl of pineapple, probably because she didn't want to look anyone directly in the eye; Mark took pity on her and slid it back across the counter for her to munch on. Delicately plucking a piece out, she seemed ready to continue. "I just wanted to know…how did mom and Mark get…together long enough to have me?" she frowned even as she chewed, like she didn't care for her own phrasing. "I mean…they're – you're – not in love…" she looked from one to the other. "So, how come you had me? Why were you together?"

It was a good thing she had clarified, because Mary had been having a hard time decoding what she meant. One thing was for sure; she liked the use of the word 'together.' It was age-appropriate to define sex, and for someone that worried her child could sometimes be _too_ adult, it convinced her she wasn't so ahead of her time to be so knowledgeable about relationships. Suddenly, she wondered if 'together' was the phrase Marshall had used when he'd educated her all those months ago.

"You mean…why were we together in a way that people who are in love are together?" Mark still wanted to make sure he understood, Mary busy thinking about how to respond. "In a way that makes a baby?"

"Yes."

The parents looked at one another – all three of them – and at least Mary could safely say that they all had minor recollections of that time in their lives, even Marshall. It was right up against the roadblock of his amnesia, but he should remember, and that was helpful for all of them.

But, all of a sudden, reminiscence didn't bring the woman as much comfort as she would've hoped. She would never trade her one night stand with Mark for anything when you considered the end result, but those hadn't exactly been the proudest times in her life. She'd been so isolated, seething with jealousy over Marshall and Abigail, secretly dejected that her baby sister was getting married before she was, and childishly disgruntled that Jinx had managed to get herself sober. Of course, she was grateful for all but one of those happenings now, but it still wasn't her favorite time to reflect upon.

She wondered if the boys would tell the tale the same way she would, and decided not to wait to find out.

"Well…you're pretty familiar with the story about the fire aren't you, girly?" Mary started with this, because the way she spun the yarn of Melissa's birth detailed her existence at that time fairly well. "About how Brandi was getting ready for her wedding to Peter, how Jinx had just bought her apartment, Marshall was my partner, and Mark was in New Jersey…?"

"Yes, but I don't even know why Mark was here. He would've had to be here for me to get in your belly, wouldn't he?"

The man himself smirked, "Well, we would have to be in the same place, at any rate."

"Then, what were you doing here?" Melissa turned to him now that he'd added his own spin. "New Jersey is far away. Did you come just to visit mom?"

"Uh, well…kind of…" he was fudging, and Mary shot him a look intended to tell him to be more straightforward. "Actually, yes. Only, she didn't know I was planning it. Brandi and I had been talking, and she asked me to come."

"What for?"

"He was _pretending_ that he wanted to kick off his solar panel business here," Mary broke in, keeping things light by shaking her head in a superior way, her tone expertly mocking.

"Only pretending?" Missy looked lost for a moment, but wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Thanks, Mare…" the man's words were annoyed, but his face was kinder, brown eyes as boyish as ever. Getting back to Melissa, he continued, "I'm not in love with mom. You know that. But, I care about her a lot, and you know I was in love with her once upon a time…"

"That sounds like a fairytale," the child commented.

"Which we were far from," her mother rebutted. "Melissa, we did not work as a couple – not like me and Marshall. But, Mark was here and he was fun to be around and…so we got together. We made you. It was just once, but once is all it takes."

"Was it an accident?"

Mary opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out. This was a kid who knew she had nearly lost her life in a raging blaze, a wall of impenetrable flames – a kid who was aware she had almost been given up for adoption because her mother's job was simply too unpredictable to bring a child into it. How could a little girl who had come to embrace all that speculate on whether her very existence had been a gaffe? Melissa really was a puzzle sometimes. She could be so accepting of so many things and have such a difficult time with others. Mary could only guess it was part of her ability to embody the heart and mind of both an adult and a child.

As it was, the female inspector tried to stop and think; she wanted to answer her question sincerely without making her daughter feel horribly useless. There weren't very many ways to do that, but she should've known that the most eloquent among them could complete the task far better than she could.

"You know, Little Missy…I tend to think of an accident as causing some kind of misfortune…"

Marshall was so casual, even while his step-daughter looked baffled and anxious behind her glasses. Still, she was patient, and Mary was glad she had the tolerance to wait for Marshall's judgment to be broadcast as well.

"I mean, what about you?" he even involved her in his thoughts. "When I say 'accident' what do you think of?"

"I don't know…" she mumbled, looking unsure about whether she should've brought this up, but willing to hear the man out. "Like…a car crash. Or…maybe when you drop something and it breaks…"

"Exactly," this seemed to be just what Marshall was looking for; he even nodded as he praised her. "Accidents cause a problem, as far as I'm concerned. In a car wreck, someone might get hurt; the car might never work right again…" he explained deftly, good-natured all the way through. "Or, say I mishandled that bowl right there…" pointing at the patch of fruit before them. "…And it smashed on the floor – then we wouldn't have a bowl anymore, at least not _that_ bowl. Someone might step on the glass and cut their foot…"

"So…?" Melissa seemed to be latching on; she'd even abandoned the aforementioned pineapple to listen more intently.

"So, accidents make something go wrong," he rephrased once more. "And, I don't know about mom and Mark for sure, but I know that I would never think there was _anything_ wrong with finding out you were living in mom's belly…"

He was amazing, Mary thought. Truly amazing. Only Marshall could make an unplanned pregnancy with one's ex-husband sound so commonplace – even positive. Of course, they all knew it had been worth it in the end, but his way with words and his careful, calculated rationalizations were something Mary never could've generated. You believed him when he spoke; he didn't just pummel the little girl with platitudes, but went through the journey step-by-step so there could be no doubt when she reached the end of the trail.

"It was a surprise, I'm sure…" here, he looked to his companions for help, and both quit admiring his poetic speech and got with the program.

"Yes, definitely a surprise," Mary blurted out.

"For both of us," Mark insisted.

"But, a good one, I would say," he deduced, as if he could wrap it all in a bow so effortlessly. "But, not an accident – never an accident. Were you worried that-that was how we saw you?"

"Well…not _now_…" Mary could tell Melissa had been sold on her step-father's idea by how quickly she countered his inquiry. "I just thought…back then…" a hunch of her shoulders. "I don't know…maybe nobody really wanted me if mom and Mark didn't plan on having me. Maybe Mark only came here after I was born because he thought he _had_ to…"

"No, Missy…" the mentioned man had to break in at this point, and he might not be as fluent as Marshall, but he could dispute her fears in his own way. "I didn't _have_ to; plenty of dads don't. Look at mom's dad…" he gestured at Mary, who didn't want to muddy things up by talking about James. "I _wanted_ to be here to see you grow up; I promise…"

"But, suppose you weren't my dad. Suppose it was somebody else. If you found out mom was going to have a baby and you weren't its dad, would you still move here?"

She had a point, as awkward as it was, Mary thought. She had to remind herself that the whole goal of this conversation was to air out all the dirty laundry and she guessed this qualified. She suddenly felt fortunate that it wasn't really up to her to field this one; Mark would have to do it.

Missy's wide-eyed, unblinking gaze probably made it much more difficult for him to come up with something truthful, which was likely why he was gaping like a hooked fish. Still though, he was much smarter and quicker on his feet than his ex-wife used to give him credit for, and now was no exception.

"Well, Missy Jean, I probably wouldn't have…" Mary prepared herself for a bomb, or else tears, but Mark didn't give his daughter time for either. "I wouldn't have had that connection with your mom like we do now…"

"But, Marshall and Stan aren't my dad, and they're here anyway…"

"I know…" Mark was clearly squirming, but was determined to press on. "The thing is…"

Marshall wasn't going to let him drown. He was too good a man, too good a friend and father, to let Mark suffer.

"The thing is, Missy, that Stan and I were already close with mom. She and I were best friends and Stan was always there if we needed him…" the male inspector grabbed hold of the sentence like he had seen it coming, muting Mark's words in an instant. "When you came along, we stuck around because we loved mom – pretty hard not to love _you_ when you belong to her, wouldn't you say?"

Mary felt herself blush and pondered, once again, how much her husband recalled about those early days of Melissa's arrival. If all the details hadn't come back yet, he was doing a remarkable job imagining that he had retained them.

"But, Mark and mom had been apart for a long time – they still liked each other, but they hadn't seen each other in years. It was because of you that they had a reason to come back together, and I'm sure neither of them regret it…"

"Never," Mark wanted to plead his own case, at least in part. "_You_, Missy Jean, are the best thing to ever happen to me…" he poked a finger in her chest, causing a reluctant grin to escape. "I may not have left New Jersey if not for you, but I'm so lucky that that's the way things worked out…"

"You were not a mistake, sweets," Mary had been silent for several minutes, and if everyone was going to talk about her, she might as well contribute. "The way everything unfolded was really funky, I agree, but you are really what brought everyone together. Don't ever think that just because you were unplanned that you weren't wanted…"

"I just thought…" there was a hint of something in her voice that said she felt silly admitting what she was feeling now, but that she might as well finish. "…When I didn't know who my dad was, I thought maybe nobody wanted to take care of me all the time, so you – mom – got _all_ the boys to do it, like so…just one wouldn't have to…"

"None of them _have_ to, that's what we're saying…" Mary sensed they were so close to understanding, to tying everything together, and her tone became more pressing to ensure nothing got misplaced on their way out of the tunnel. "They _want_ to; all of them. It's not about all three being there so the other two can take a break. It's that they all love you so much they want their fair share."

Mary was startled when both Marshall and Mark laughed. She supposed that her description was a little funny, like her daughter was a piece of pie they were fighting over at Thanksgiving. But, she'd been so zeroed in on Missy, craving her recognition of her unique universe, that she didn't stop to think about how she'd sounded. Fortunately, she seemed to have used words that Melissa could hang onto, because she smiled cautiously at the sound of the men's chuckles.

"For real?" her eyebrows arched upward, staring at Mary, allowing the laughter to merely wash over her. "Marshall and Mark and Stan are here 'cause they care _that_ much about me?"

"Sweets, are you kidding?" she didn't mean to make it sound so obvious, but she was hankering to be done. "Don't you remember when you were younger and they'd tease you endlessly to pick your favorite between them?"

"Yeah…" she giggled softly, and Mary couldn't help but glance quickly at Marshall to see if he had committed this to memory as well, but his face didn't give anything away. "I always said I didn't have a favorite."

"Look…Melissa…" her anticipation to get through this with no tantrums or outbursts was making the woman hurry. "I know that the kids in your class don't live like you do. But, there comes a time when you have to realize that you have to go with what works for you. Mark is your father, and he loves you…"

"I do, Missy Jean."

"But, Marshall and Stan love you too – just as much; they always will."

"I can vouch for Stan on that," Marshall put in.

"I don't want you to feel like anything has to change just because you know now how all this came to be…" she waved a wild hand over her head to indicate everything from her tryst with Mark to the outcome of the fire. "There are reasons to be grateful for all of them, and I know that you are; I don't have to tell you that. Mark's half of the reason you're here at all, and he came all this way to raise you. Stan's busy as hell keeping everyone in Albuquerque from shooting each other up, and he still finds time to come over here and watch you roller skate and fly model airplanes. And, Marshall…"

"Marshall came home even though he didn't even remember who I was!" apparently, the child needed no more convincing, looking triumphant as though she had uncovered some great mystery. "Right?"

As Marshall's true contributions to her livelihood were really too big to put into words, Mary decided her daughter's logic worked best and she nodded, smiling weakly as her head bobbed like it was coming loose.

"Yeah…" she agreed. "Right."

And, Marshall himself thought, as the pair of them had already discussed that you didn't adore one another any less just by knowing where you came from, he doubted Melissa would broach that topic. She seemed to know as well as any of them that after eight years of living without a specific father, it didn't seem right or fair to put one of the three any higher on the pedestal than the others. He also had the feeling that she was going to keep her thoughts about who she'd always believed her dad to be to herself.

But, evidently Marshall was still on her mind, even if he wasn't the person who had actually given her life, because she wasn't finished wanting the entire account of events.

"Well, when you were with Mark…" Missy looked at Mary as she said this, harking back to that single night of passion. "He wasn't here very long – he went home after he'd visited, right? To New Jersey?"

"Yeah, I did," he echoed.

"But, what were you doing then, Marshall? I know you were mom's partner, but was that it? Did you meet Mark before he left?"

The silence that settled over them seemed to convince Melissa that she had committed some sort of faux pas, because she shied away when her parents began trading significant looks. The final question was no problem; it was who Marshall had been with when he had first shook hands with Mark that might prompt anger or upset. They'd been doing so well, and nobody wanted to ruin it.

"I…maybe you don't remember…" Melissa tried to backpedal, embarrassed, but her assumption was incorrect.

"No, I do, actually," Marshall rectified. "That's not as fuzzy for me as some of the stuff that came after," he meant her birth and his eventual marriage. "As it so happens, I did meet Mark when he was here."

"Did you like him?"

"Well, what's not to like?" Marshall was charitable as Mark chortled.

"But, you probably didn't want them to be together – not if you were in love with mom."

It was very odd to talk about things like harbored feelings and secret desires this many years down the road like they had never been as complicated as they'd felt to the two inspectors back before they had been one. Melissa, in spite of the fact that she knew it had taken a long time for Mary and Marshall to hook up, still assumed they had always been hankering for one another, though both had been too cowardly to act on it for such a long time.

And, Mary was feeling the part of that coward at the moment, although Marshall took the statement in stride, barely missing a beat.

"Well, I didn't know they'd been together," he admitted. "Not until I found out your mom was pregnant."

"Did she tell you the truth about who my dad was?"

"She did," he could attest to that. "I might've guessed, actually; hard to say at this point."

"Were you mad?"

Mary expected Marshall to say 'no' right away; after all, even his wife thought that 'mad' was the wrong way to describe whatever he'd been feeling at that time. But, he took pause, and a faraway look seemed to cross over his features, blue eyes distant and pulling him back into days past – days before marriage and children and co-habitation. The days when he and Mary had been nothing but a duo of two, thick-as-thieves friends, nothing to tie them down or prevent them from racing off to investigate a good, juicy case. Those were the days Marshall remembered.

But, they had also been fraught with problems – girlfriends and ex-husbands and tiptoeing around issues that were screaming for release. How had they got along so well for so long with that much infatuation rippling underneath? Mary would never know.

"No, I wasn't mad, Missy…" Mary had been able to read his mind, at least in part. "Truthfully, though, I was a little sad." And, in response to her look of bewilderment, "I love kids. I had wanted kids of my own for a long time. Mom and I had kind of been growing apart when I found out about you, and I was worried I wouldn't get to know you like I wanted to. Your mom had Mark, even for a short time, and I had a girlfriend…"

Mary had known it would come up sooner or later, and Melissa didn't disappoint.

"You had a _girlfriend?_"

"I did," there was no denying it.

"Who?"

"Her name was Abigail," Marshall sighed, wanting to get this portion over as quickly as possible. "She was a detective; she and I were actually on a date when I first met Mark here…" he inclined his head at the other man. "We doubled with him and your mom, if you can imagine that."

"And, you broke up because you were in love with mom, right?"

It all came back to the same thing. Every inquiry the little girl had posed, every wondering she had possessed, all the uncertainties eventually traveled the same well-worn path to what really mattered to her in this crazy, mixed-up earth they resided on. Fathers and mothers, boyfriends and girlfriends, time and space, every memory or none, eight years ago or eight days past, were all wiped cleanly away so long as Melissa believed the glue that held them all together was still in place. Mary had the distinct impression that she could've dealt with just about anything – minus the destruction of her mother and her one greatest, best friend. She needed to know, again and again, that they were solid. If they could guarantee that, everything else would work itself out.

Marshall seemed to be realizing this as well, because he had no better retort to give to such a broad, yet simple issue.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he concluded. "It took us some time to shake out the kinks – to get as far as 'love' but we made it, I guess…"

The 'I guess' likely came from the place where he stopped being able to remember how it had all unfurled. Mary surmised it must've been soon after they had found out she was expecting, because if he recalled that, but not the finer points of Melissa's wild arrival, then his head was missing the times they had shed their skins and gotten real. No more waffling, no more holding back. Love or nothing.

"Melissa, does it make you feel better to know that Marshall and I are still happy, that we still want to be together?" the boys had taken care of so much of this conversation, and it was time for Mary to do her part again. "Even if he's not your dad?"

She had hit the nail on the head, "I don't care if he's my dad so long as he stays with you. I thought he might leave after he got hurt, that he might not want to be married to you anymore, and I didn't want that to happen."

She'd picked up on far more than Mary had ever realized, even when she'd tried so hard to conceal Marshall's uncertainty about coming home from her. At least the blonde could safely say they were through those rockier portions, although there was still a lot of work to go.

"Well, I didn't want that to happen either, sweets. We're a family. I wanted to stay a family."

"Melissa…" Marshall obviously felt the need to justify some of his previous wavering, and arched forward in his stool so that he was looking directly into the little girl's round eyes. "Mom and I had a rough start getting back in our groove after the accident – there may be times ahead that it's still rough. But, I want you to know that regardless of what happens between me and mom, I'm not going to run out on you. I _do_ love you, and I'm sorry if I ever made you think otherwise."

Here, she smiled, and every single one of them knew that the all the cracks were far from sealed, but at least they had a foundation to stand on. With everything from first encounters to the give-and-take of the day-to-day existence out in the open, it was hard to imagine not being able to move steadily forward from here. Mary, at least, would admit that it was better – far better – to not be carrying around so many secrets. While her intentions had always been sound in keeping Melissa in the dark as far as her own personal history, starting with a clean slate meant they didn't have to operate that way anymore. It might've been messy trying to come out the other side, but so many worthwhile things in life were.

And, as if Marshall's bold statement had been some kind of an alarm, the front door opened in the midst of their dialogue, finally beginning to wind down. This seemed to be a cue for Melissa to leave the table, because at the sound of the hinges, she left all of them behind and leapt off her stool to see who had come to call.

It didn't take long to see Stan and Eleanor poking their heads in, looking unsure about whether they should be intruding. Mary was more than ready for the serious air to begin to evaporate, and immediately felt her muscles relax knowing they could leave the exchange here for now.

"Hi Stan!" the eight-year-old called as she ran through the living room. As though their talk had never occurred, she wanted to know, "Did you hear about Brandi?"

"Well, I certainly did, captain," he nodded and rumpled her hair, coming to a halt beside the sofa. "I also heard you were _quite_ something waiting around for that baby to arrive. Sounds like Brandi couldn't have found a better coach." Holding out his hand, he proclaimed, "Put her there."

Melissa gave him an enthusiastic high five, which made a loud smack, and then refocused her attentions on Eleanor. She was in pants today, a change from her usual gypsy skirts that she wore at the office. But, Mary had to admit that she looked good in jeans, a blousy, paisley top to cover her upper-half. She wondered if this casual attire meant anything significant, but she could count on Melissa to make that call in a few minutes time.

"Hi Eleanor," she ducked in for a quick hug, and then shuffled backward again. "I got new glasses. Can you tell?" she pointed at the smudge-free frames.

"They look beautiful on you," she said kindly, even though Mary doubted she could distinguish the new pair from the old, as they were so similar.

"Very stylish," Stan backed her up.

"Is your shirt new?" Missy powered on. "I've never seen it before."

Eleanor glanced down at the maroon print and said, "Old, actually; I just don't wear it very often."

"How come? It's pretty."

"Well, thank-you, honey," she plucked the fabric. "Truthfully, I tend to leave it alone because my John gave it to me. Most of what I had when I was married to him doesn't fit anymore, so I don't have to worry about whether I can wear it or not. But, I saw this in my closet this morning and thought it was time for a change. John wouldn't have wanted it to go to waste…"

Melissa obviously hadn't expected such an in-depth explanation, but being the mature child that she was, she barely blinked at being reminded that Eleanor was a widow. Her tone dropped significantly, however, like she felt the need to sound more mournful.

"I think you're right," she said seriously. "It's a nice shirt. Do you like it Stan?"

This was a set-up if ever Mary had heard one, and she knew if she could see her daughter's face it would've been wily and devious from her eyebrows to her chin. She exchanged glances with Marshall and Mark behind her back, both of whom were grinning. Although she often tried to reel in her child and her matchmaker duties, she decided to let her roam free this time. All the talk of love and life and new babies made her think it was time for Stan to fight his own battle; he would either hide his personal endeavors or announce them for all the world to hear.

The older man seemed more prepared for this interrogation than his female inspector would've thought, and she found herself slipping out of her stool to meander into the living room, the boys not far behind.

"I like it very much," his nod was steady, purposeful. "I even suggested she put it on this morning."

"You were together this morning? On a Sunday? At Eleanor's house?"

Stan's eyes strayed from the second grader in front of him to see the rest of the individuals coming forward. Mary smirked, both of them thinking the same thing; you couldn't pull a fast one on Melissa. Maybe it was time to stop trying.

"Yes, we were," his voice shook a little, but he was obviously determined. Eleanor was quiet next to him, though there was nothing in her features that said she was insulted that he was being so forthcoming. "I was there last night too, as a matter of fact."

"Did you get stuck in the storm?"

Mary distinctly heard Marshall stifle a laugh. Eleanor's cheeks went pink, but a tiny smile flitted about her mouth.

"Not exactly stuck," Stan corrected. "We were there on purpose anyway. Having dinner."

"Like a date?"

This was it. Now or never. Mary found herself inexplicably rooting for Stan to overcome here and have out with it, so long as Eleanor wouldn't have him paying the price later.

With a deep breath that made the man's chest quiver, he declared, "Yes, exactly like a date. It _was_ a date. A very lovely date."

And, before Melissa could run all over this with excitement, Stan actually leaned over and kissed Eleanor smack on the lips. Even Mary was shocked; she hadn't expected him to go that far, and Missy's gasp indicated she was feeling the same way. It was Marshall and Mark, however, that decided to be juvenile about the whole thing, probably making Stan regret that he had ever tried to be such an open book.

"Woooooo!" the men wolf-whistled; Mark even clapped his hands a few times.

"Letting it all hang out are we, chief?" Marshall speculated. "Well, it's about time!"

"Don't you talk to me about time, inspector," Stan waved a very boss-like finger once he could speak, winding his arm around Eleanor's back, who seemed content to let him do the talking. "I'm not fooled; you can't convince me you remember the way my lady and I have bounced around these last few years. Not to mention, it took you _how_ long to snag your own woman?" he drew a finger up and down Mary's frame.

"Too long, too long…" Marshall conceded defeat and held up his hands. "Even so, I call this a celebratory occasion; man, the champagne will be flying left and right between you two and toasting Matt's arrival…"

"I knew you wanted to be together!" Melissa bleated, jumping up and down. "I knew it! But…Eleanor…?"

Her enthusiasm faded momentarily and she looked gravely into the face of the older woman. The way emotions were flying around was becoming dizzying for Mary. One minute, they had been talking about Melissa's very authentic reality, the next she was cross-examining Stan just like old times. Now, the chief's relationship was waving in the wind and, according to Marshall, it was cause for festivity. But, just as quickly, Missy was calling a halt to all the bells and whistles, looking serious and somber. How could anyone be expected to keep up?

She didn't lose her severe glance quickly either. It skimmed between Stan and Eleanor before she finally landed on the woman, retreating only slightly to make sure she wasn't overstepping her bounds.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure," the office manager appeared only minimally leery; there was little to fear from a girl as sweet as Melissa. "What?"

The child exhaled slowly, and then dove right in, "Do you still love John? Your old husband?"

Marshall took care of this quickly, "First husband, Little Missy."

Eleanor didn't seem bothered by the terminology, and she didn't even wilt as Mary had expected she would at the second mention of John in just a few minutes. It was a sensitive subject, but if Stan was finally willing to go public, she must've been forced to accept that there was going to be some awkwardness to go along with it. Better that it was caused by Melissa than by anyone else.

"Yes, I still love John. I always will," Eleanor was stately; resolute in holding her head high, but Mary distinctly saw Stan caress her lower back as she spoke. "But…"

"But, you love Stan too," Missy finished for her, no doubt ensconced in the word 'love' after her conversation with her various parents; it seemed to be the phrase of the day, the be-all, end-all. "You can love both of them, can't you?"

"Well, I'm starting to figure out that I can," she acknowledged with a small sniffle, though no tears fell. "My John has been gone a very long time now. Sometimes I still miss him terribly. But, if he loved me like I hope he did, he wouldn't want me to wither away waiting for him when he can't come home…"

"Flowers wither away," the eight-year-old informed her, and Eleanor seemed glad for the comparison.

"And I'm sure you've seen what happens to them when they start to die. They lose their beauty and their color, and what's lost is lost; it can't come back."

"They turn brown and ugly."

The woman seemed to think this was a good place to sunny things up, "Well, I don't want to be brown and ugly!" she announced with a trembling laugh. "I want to grow. And…I'm lucky that Stan helps me do that. He understands about me and John; he doesn't expect me to forget him…"

This had been a big morning for Melissa; so much heavy discussion, and yet Mary felt that she had never been more enlightened, more full of joy for those around her. Because, she wasn't the only one who was learning about the bonds and links between those that cared about one another; the adults around her were doing their share of discovery as well. Matters of life and death, or even simple loss and gain, were a tough load to carry, but if Melissa could clasp the particulars with two hands, the grown-ups in her life could surely do the same.

"Loving once doesn't make it impossible to love again," Stan finished Eleanor's thought for her, sparing her the task of saying anything else. "John is a part of Eleanor, and so John is a part of us."

"I think Eleanor is sort of like me," Missy spoke up, as though the idea had just occurred to her. "I don't have to _only_ love Mark because he's my dad. I can love you and Marshall just as much," by 'you' Mary assumed she meant Stan, who was positioned right in front of her, for once without his hands in his pockets. "I don't have to pick. Just like Eleanor doesn't have to pick between John and Stan. John might be gone but he probably wants her to be happy…"

"I sure hope so…" Eleanor interspersed quietly.

"…But, he doesn't want her to just forget they were ever married, even though he doesn't want her to be alone either."

"Sounds like a good hypothesis to me, captain," Stan praised. "But, just so you know…" perhaps in an attempt to break some of the tension, he winked in a gentlemanly way and cuffed her shoulder with his fist. "Eleanor may be my lady, but there is only _one_ girl in my life. _Nobody_ can hold a candle to her."

For once, Melissa was not so humble, "You mean me," she grinned.

"You got that right. You think you can stand belonging to both me _and_ Eleanor now? I know she's not a boy, but we come as a package deal at this point."

And, as Missy chirruped that it didn't matter if Eleanor wasn't a boy – she had Matt to add to the brood now, after all – Mary reflected more thoroughly over what Stan had said. Looking around at the men who had brought up this brilliant, bright-eyed being – the inspector, the builder, and the chief – she thought that belonging was the best way to put the philosophy they had forever operated under.

Missy Jean. She belonged to no one and yet still belonged to everyone. That was how it had always been, and that was how Mary could only hope it would stay for as long as humanly possible.

XXX

**A/N: Ah, Stan and Eleanor – love is in the air! One more chapter plus the epilogue to come!**


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: This is the last "real" chapter – only the sappy, lovey-dovey epilogue comes after this!**

XXX

By the time Monday rolled around, Mary was feeling as free as she had felt in a long time. The weekend had been jam-packed, with no time for her to really savor the normalcy that had begun to inhabit her household. It had come in snippets and bursts, too short for Mary to believe it was really happening – there, and then gone, like the individual colors of the sunset. The pinks and yellows and reds were only visible just long enough before they bled into the next shade, too mystical to be held in time for more than a few seconds.

But, if there was ever a day that made the woman feel like she was back in her rhythm, it was this one. True, Brandi was still in the hospital recuperating, but Matt was thriving and the new mom was improving every day. Yes, Stan and Eleanor were now so flirty in the company of others that it was mortifying, but Mary would take a little embarrassment if she got to see her boss so happy. Otherwise, however, the hours ticked on just as they had prior to Marshall's accident.

Melissa was in school, and not a single call from her teacher came through about some new calamity she was facing. Marshall spent most of his morning at the office on the phone, negotiating with big wigs in DC and even catching up with a few witnesses. Mary's day progressed in much the same fashion, and while she distinctly heard her husband ask a few of his charges to repeat things – things he hadn't yet been able to recall – his lingering amnesia seemed a remote impediment from this side of the mountain. It was manageable, at least for right now, and Mary would take manageable any day of the week.

The married pair spent the afternoon at home, which was the first taste of deviation this Monday, as they typically spent so many waking hours at the Sunshine Building. But, considering that Marshall was still on the mend and Mary was still exhausted from delivering her nephew, Stan had granted them a break. The hours of solitude they spent together, just the two of them, were something Mary cherished. Little was said as time wore on, but there was no strain present like there had been when they'd been at odds over Missy. The quiet was comfortable, like they were an elderly couple sitting on a swing in the twilight, no need to talk just for the sake of talking.

They were both at the island when their serene afternoon hit a pleasant snag, which was Melissa coming home from school, dropped off by Mark who had to jet off to a meeting with a new client. He must've dropped her on the driveway, for he did not accompany her inside. The child ran into the kitchen, still wearing her jacket and backpack, breathless and pink-cheeked from the chill weather but looking just as Mary had felt all day – at peace. And, in Missy's case – beyond.

"Hey, there, sweets," Mary greeted her through a mouthful of cracker, dribbling crumbs onto the counter unintentionally. "Where's Mark?"

"He had to go; he said he was already late!" her voice was high-pitched and chirpy, and she sounded winded. "It's cold outside! My lips are gonna turn blue!"

"Well, I don't think you're in danger of frostbite just yet," Marshall rationalized, beckoning the little girl with a finger so he didn't have to put weight on his rusty leg. She scurried over to him and he began examining her outerwear, flimsy as it was. "You might want to consider investing in a warmer coat, however. It is October, after all."

"I have a warmer one; I just didn't wear it!"

"And, why is that?"

"I like this one…" she informed him. "It's soft…"

The jacket in question was a shade of bright peach with a pointed collar and no hood, a zipper spanning only the length of Melissa's neck. It was, however, very soft because it was made of fleece.

"Looks like you're getting a little long in the tooth for it, though…" Marshall observed as he plucked the fabric.

Missy shot him a quizzical look, "Long in the what?"

"Tooth," he repeated. "It means it's too small for you," he pointed out the short cuffs and the way it hit above her waist, something Mary hadn't noticed until now; it seemed her child was actually growing.

"Too small for my _teeth_?" Melissa still didn't get it, and the man laughed as he watched her drop her backpack on the floor, pulling the jacket over her head as the short zipper prevented her from taking it off any other way.

"It's an expression," he schooled her. "In fact, it originated with horses, because their teeth – contrary to humans…"

"Here we go…" Mary muttered, rolling her eyes in fabulous fashion, but one quick glance showed her Missy was listening with all her might.

"…Continue to grow as they get older – not so with you. Experts out there can sometimes tell how old a horse is by examining its teeth. Therefore, 'long in the tooth' refers to a horse that is especially old."

"Oh…" Melissa nodded, clearly not finding this addition to her wealth of knowledge the least bit strange. "Well, I don't think it's too small for me…" she was back on the fleece pullover, which was now on the floor with her bag; yanking it over her head had caused static in her ponytail. "I never grow out of things. I've been wearing my overalls forever…" she looked down at the classic denim pair she was sporting at the moment.

"Overalls are different, girly; you can adjust the straps," Mary declared. "Anyway, I need to dig out your winter coat, anyway. Marshall's right; it is October, you need to start wearing it."

"You know Halloween is only five days away?" there was a glint in her eye, like this was a secret the adults didn't know, something Mary couldn't understand. "I didn't even pick my costume yet!"

"I admit it snuck up on me too," Marshall admitted. "Time has been slipping away from me. We'll have to organize something soon."

"Especially now…" Missy was looking more conniving by the minute, picking up everything she had dropped on the floor and flinging it atop the island. "You know why?"

"Hmm…" the male inspector pretended to think, finger on his bearded chin as his step-daughter detoured around the counter and hoisted herself into the stool beside her mother, so that Marshall was sitting across from the two women. "Now, why would Halloween be more special _now_…?"

Mary decided to gander a guess, poor though it probably was, "Because we need to come up with some horribly corny costume to dress Matt in when Brandi finally gets to take him home?" she took another bite of cracker as she imagined the cheesy possibilities her mother and sister alone were likely to concoct. "A pumpkin is too on the nose; they'll go with something way worse than that…"

"A teddy bear, maybe…" Marshall contributed.

"Christ, they'll probably do him up as a flower…"

"He _is_ a boy; you don't think that's a little feminine?"

"Nothing is when it comes to Jinx and Brandi."

"I saw a lovely hot dog costume years ago; that would perhaps be more original…"

Melissa could obviously see that the two inspectors were getting off track and sought to put the focus back on her.

"It's not more exciting because of Matt!" she cut in, but even though she was yearning for their attention, she was still smiling.

"Well, then I give up…" Mary slapped her daughter's hand away when she reached for the cheese and crackers stacked nearby. "Easy, sticky fingers. I'll get you your own in a minute."

Marshall grinned at seeing his wife hoard her food; because that was certainly something he could remember. But, it must not have offended Melissa too badly, or else a snack wasn't the most important thing on her mind. She was clearly ravenous to share why the nearest holiday had become such a big event, and wasn't going to let her chance get away now.

"Because, I might get to have _two_ Halloween parties!" she burst, as if strings had been cut from her chest and she'd broken through them, eyes sparkling with fervor. "Two!"

Mary had to concede that this was news to her, "And, why is that? They aren't going to spoil you and rot all your teeth with enough candy in your class, there has to be something extra?"

Fortunately, the eight-year-old was used to her mother's sarcasm, and paid it no mind.

"Because we're having our class party with the parade and everything, which I guess will be okay, but then they're having _another_ party in the gifted class and the teacher said I could go if I'm signed up!"

Talk about news. Even Marshall looked surprised and, if possible, slightly apprehensive. Mary could hardly blame him, given the way she had reacted in the past when it came to advanced programs. But, given that she and Mrs. Hodges had turned over a new leaf, she was feeling less heat toward the changes taking place in her daughter's school career. Even so, she didn't want the race to start before the gun even went off; decisions could not be made without her.

"How did you find out about this?" Marshall spoke up while Mary shifted further forward in her chair so that she was practically on top of her child. "Did Miss Newman tell you about it?"

"No, I got to go and visit the class while everyone else was at art and the teacher in there said I could come! Her name is Mrs. Cox. She's a lot older than Miss Newman…"

"Well, most people are," Mary couldn't resist pointing out. "How old are we talking?"

Missy didn't have to think for long, "Probably as old as Eleanor."

"So, ancient," the blonde concluded, which earned her a slap on the wrist from Marshall.

"She is not ancient!" the little girl proved she had heard, shaking her head but looking invigorated all the while. "Dinosaurs are ancient!"

"Yes, all right, Miss Paleontologist…" Mary cut her off, faking that she was annoyed with her academic prowess. "But, who is this Mrs. Cox? Did you get to go in there today because I sent those forms with you?" she had finally gotten them filled out, even in the midst of their helter-skelter weekend.

"I guess so!" Melissa seemed not to know the details, nor did she care. "I gave them to Miss Newman this morning and we had art after lunch and she said if I wanted to go see the gifted class instead then I could! So, I did and…"

She paused to take a breath, and Mary felt that single second lasted about five minutes. Though she should be able to tell from Melissa's demeanor how she had reacted to what she had observed, worry that her child would be disappointed still lurked in her veins. Apparently, she needn't have concerned herself, because the minute she was able to ramp up again, there could be no doubt as to how she felt.

"…I _loved_ it!" everything about her was glowing; she was waving her arms and flashing her eyes, all wrapped up in this shiny, spectacular new world. "They have computers! Mrs. Cox let me get on one because she wanted to see if I could work it, and she said I could look up whatever I wanted! I picked Australia, and she said if I wanted to do a project on Australia that I could!"

"A project?" Marshall boggled.

"Yeah, and that I could do _anything_ I wanted!" the possibilities were endless. "I could make a poster or write a paper or draw a map or build a model – I could talk about koalas or kangaroos or the opera house or anything at all…" Marshall seemed about to interrupt, no doubt to reminisce about how they had gone over the fated continent while he'd still been in the hospital, but he was too slow for Missy. "And, not just about Australia either! She said _anything_!" she could not highlight this enough. "I could do the solar system or an animal or a building or…"

"Well, my goodness, Little Missy…"

"But, that's not all, either!" how could it be, when she was this animated? "There are only ten kids in the class – I'm the eleventh! And, when we're all there we get a half hour to do our project and then the second half hour we have a meeting! Mrs. Cox picks something for everyone to talk about, and I don't know what's so gifted about this part, but I really liked it…"

"Liked…what?" Mary wanted to make sure she was following.

"We just get to talk. Sometimes she says we talk about our families, or about something we're worried about, something we're scared of, something we're happy about, or our friends…" again, she didn't have enough breath left to finish and had to gulp to make sure she could continue. "…You don't have to talk if you don't want to, but I wanted to because the kids are so nice! They're only allowed to say nice things and everyone has to say something nice to someone! There are these two boys that are only in first grade so they're younger than I am…"

"Really?" Marshall was smiling now, for it was impossible not to be awestruck and taken in by this kind of energy.

"And, when I told everybody about how Matt had just been born – because that was the topic today, things that are new – they said how _cool_ they thought it was he was born at my house!"

"It was innovative, I will grant you that," the man reciprocated, but Missy seemed not to hear him.

"Even the older kids thought so! There's two fifth graders and three fourth graders and three third graders; I'm the only second grader and there aren't any kindergarteners…"

"Makes sense…" Marshall encouraged while Mary continued to goggle.

"But, they all said they were glad I might get to be with them every day and they wanted me to come to their Halloween party! It won't be as big as the one in my class and there's going to be _dancing_…"

"I didn't know you danced, sweets…"

"I did," Marshall whispered with a smirk.

"Jinx taught me," she was unruffled. "It's the best! It seems so fun! And, one of the kids in my regular class even said that they heard what happened to Marshall – probably from Owen. But, they said they were sorry for me and they hope he gets better."

After everything she'd already heard, this was too much, and Mary stammered, "Did they really? Someone from your _regular_ class, the one with Miss Newman?"

"Yes, it was a girl – her name is Jasmine – and she's never really made fun of me like the other kids, but she's really shy so I didn't know if she liked me…" a bystander was indeed better than an instigator, if one had to choose. "I think Miss Newman told the kids a little bit about what happened; I'm not sure why, but…"

"I told Mrs. Hodges that-that was okay," Mary would take the rap for this one. "It sounds like at least one of them understood that going through the accident was hard for you."

"Maybe…" but, this was clearly pretty far out on Missy's radar; evidently, she could handle her usual classmates if she was granted a blessed sixty minutes in with the other brains. "But, even though Mrs. Cox is old she is _such_ a good teacher…" the woman saw Marshall smirk at the fact that Melissa was baffled by someone past fifty being a proficient educator. "She already knew what had happened to Marshall too, and about Mark and Stan; she didn't think it was weird at all…"

How these people had found time to cover the particulars of her daughter's existence since last Friday was a mystery to Mary, but perhaps Regina had really gotten on top of things over the weekend. If she was really so determined to make up for being disdainful toward the Mann-Shannon way of life, she was doing a bang-up job.

Looking at the breathless little girl sitting next to her, Mary was flummoxed by how overjoyed she was. This was a Melissa she had not seen in what felt like so long, but the return was as wonderful as she had always imagined it would be. She seemed to possess an effervescent glow, flushing yellow and orange like heaven's light itself was shining on her, basking her in a halo of good fortune and eternal potential. The globe had never seemed like a vaster place, and Missy was prepared to wrap her arms around it the second the whistle blew.

"Well…Missy girl…" Marshall stuck a hand on his hip and broke in now that he had been given the chance to speak. "This was quite a day you had. I do agree we will have to find a Halloween costume worthy of this special party you were crowing about…"

"But, that's only if I get to be in the class…"

For the first time since she'd come in, her features sunk inward, and Mary was startlingly reminded of the child she had been fielding over the last two weeks – one who was uncertain, hedged her bets, and withdrew for fear of being rejected or left behind. That face was too painful and also too familiar for her to allow it to stick around for long.

"…Mom…" she looked directly at her mother, obviously committed not to begging, but making her case in the most earnest way she knew how to do. "I want to be in this class so badly. They don't think I'm different in there, and I get to learn so much. Mrs. Cox said I was smart and that she couldn't wait to have me…"

Mary had every intention of forestalling her, of telling her that it was a done deal already, but her plea was so sweet, her eyes so hopeful, that she decided she would just let her finish.

"I would still try really hard in Miss Newman's class; I'd still do everything she told me and if Marshall really wants me to, I'll tell kids like Owen to knock it off if you think I should…"

Rather than get into this, because the blonde could really only take one hurdle at a time, she held up a hand, bringing the request to a timely end.

"Melissa, when I sent those forms with you this morning, they said that I was giving you permission to be in the gifted class. I signed them and Mark signed them. You'll start for good next week right after Halloween."

Her gasp was genuine and precious, green eyes sparkling like the darkest, most beautiful emeralds. In the world's biggest cliché, she actually clapped her hands over her mouth and Marshall laughed, but Mary could never have predicted what happened next.

Her whirling dervish little girl, the child who consistently fell over, who couldn't balance on one foot and sometimes not even on two, her eight-year-old that saved every bit of affection and fondness she had for her three boys bounded from her seat like there had been an untrained acrobat living in her heart all this time. Not a single foot slipped, she did not plummet and crack her head on the corner of the island, but in seconds she was in Mary's lap, arms woven around her neck, squeezed tight chest-to-chest, heart-to-heart.

A small part of Mary was embarrassed by this show of gratitude, but in seconds it faded away as she realized how different and how glorious a happy Melissa felt in her arms. She was tiny, all skin and bones just as she had always been, but there was an inner strength that came from being thrilled that she had never fully appreciated. She had always belonged to the boys. Today, however, she belonged to Mary.

When she finally spoke, her words were expected, but just as sincere as her theatrical gasp.

"Thank-you, mama…" it was as if she knew how much Mary used to struggle with the idea of separating her from her peers, and knew to value the opportunity she was being given. "Thank-you, thank-you, thank-you…"

Mary smiled softly and closed her eyes, able to picture Marshall's face gazing fondly at the pair of them in their embrace. She tightened her hold on her NICU baby that was growing up and savored the hum of that uninhibited glee in her voice.

"You don't need to thank me."

But, that was not how she had been raised. Not since Cassidy and her displays of gratitude so many years ago.

"Yes, I do," she was certain. "I love you."

There was a hitch in Mary's heart upon hearing this; she had never questioned how her child felt about her, and yet the words were so rarely said that they came across as foreign – and striking at the same time. And, there was only one way to respond to a declaration as bold as that.

"I…love you too, sweets," she hoped she didn't sound hesitant, because she'd never been more sure of anything in her life. "So much."

The smallest of giggles sounded from over her shoulder, and Mary followed it up by clearing her throat; this was clearly a joyful day, and she didn't want to confound Melissa by crying, seemingly for no reason. Instead, she patted her back once before pulling free, only to find that her daughter was still grinning from ear-to-ear beneath her shiny new glasses.

Evidently, she wasn't done presenting her thankfulness either, because she laid a loud, slobbery kiss on Mary's cheek just for good measure, which produced a more authentic laugh from the woman.

"Come on now, you're going to get me all wet…" she wiped her skin with her palm, pretending to be grossed-out. "Two can play that game, girly."

"Yeah, right…"

Mary was hardly one to overdo affections, which would explain Missy's scoff, but she decided to give her a surprise. Without warning, she stuck her fingers under her armpits and squeezed, causing a buoyant squeal to erupt as she attempted to wiggle away and laughed herself to pieces all the while.

"Marshall…help…!" she called while Mary tickled every inch of her she could reach, nearly landing her on the floor. "Help!"

"I think I know better than to mess with mom," the man shook his head and held up his hands, already accepting his defeat. "Someone once told me moms are vicious when provoked."

At this, Mary let up purely so she could shoot him a significant look, for it was her who had told him as much. However, when she had referred to a mother's ferocity she had been pinpointing their behaviors when their children were in trouble. This time, all she wished to 'provoke' was more happiness; selfish, it might be, but she wanted to hang onto this blissful Melissa as long as she could. It had been so rare in the last few weeks; it was hard not to savor it now that she had come around.

But, the little girl took advantage of the blonde's momentary lapse in physical amusement and jumped down, free of tickling clutches.

"Ha! Missed me!"

"No kidding…" Mary observed. "You're too fast for me some days," and, it seemed, too grown up. "Do me a favor; take your jacket and your backpack to your room, put them away, and then come back. I'll fix you a snack and we can talk about that Halloween costume."

Willing to do anything now that she had been granted authorization to get to know her advanced classmates, Missy scooped up her belongings and skipped off to her bedroom, not a protest to be heard. Mary stood up to watch her go, and even Marshall swiveled around in his stool to serve witness. Something was different about the way their child was walking; at first, Mary couldn't put her finger on it, and then she realized there was a steadiness there that there had never been before. Granted, she did still clip her shoulder on her doorframe as she turned on her light, but it was an improvement from her usually wonky equilibrium; Mary had to wonder how long it had been going on.

"Does she seem more…balanced to you?" the woman asked her husband, using the coined term they had supplied to define coordination, or lack thereof, for years. "She usually trips every few feet; no joke…"

"Well, I can't say I recall exactly what she looked like before," Marshall reminded her. "But, I haven't seen her fall over very frequently. Why do you suppose that would be?"

Mary liked that he was consulting her before coming to his own conclusion, not that she had a decent answer.

"I don't know…" she shook her head and stared at the spot where her daughter had been standing, even though she'd long since disappeared into her room. "I mean, I still think it's something she can't do anything about; she's been wobbly her entire life, but…"

"Have you been mentioning it to her as much recently?"

Mary wanted to be sure she knew what he meant, "Mentioning what?"

"Well…" he shrugged, obviously not wanting to start a war, but his partner was certainly not in a quarreling mood. "Have you been telling her to be careful a lot? Watch her step? Don't go too fast?"

Mary thought back over the past few days and realized with a lurch that she hadn't. She had spent eight years chastising Missy to exercise caution, even though coming down on her butt had never really seemed to bother her, and she'd never gotten seriously hurt from a few bumps and bruises. But, with everything going on with Brandi and what she thought of as the return of Marshall had meant those tired old phrases hadn't come out as often.

Could confidence, sheer confidence, and the freedom to spread her wings really have corrected what had thus far been a lifelong problem?

Marshall must've been able to tell what she was thinking, because he said, "I'm not saying you did anything wrong – or that saying or not saying something has the power to completely fix an anomaly she obviously still possesses. Some of that she can't help; I know it's out of her control…"

"Yeah, but think how much it might've diminished after all this time if I'd just kept my mouth shut."

She didn't mean to sound so bitter, but that was undoubtedly how she came off because Marshall groaned – either because he was trying to stand up or from her attitude, Mary didn't know. He limped his way over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. It was warm and strong, and yet the potency he passed into her made her feel strangely light.

"That's not what I meant," he murmured, searching her slightly scowling features for signs that she believed him. "Things are starting to look up for her – that attributes to self-assurance too, which means she doesn't have as much time to think about walking a straight line…"

"Yeah, and isn't that all down to me too?" Mary wondered darkly, unsure why she was turning cynical all of a sudden. "How…how can I not feel…?"

Again, her eyes strayed to the spot where Missy had vanished as though she were still standing there – her eager face, her vivid eyes, her untamed passion for what was to come. Such a face should thrill Mary, and in many ways it did. In other ways, it was hard to picture because of how long her mother had made her wait to feel such excitement.

"…How can I not feel guilty about this?" the situation wasn't really about her, but if there was anyone she could share her insecurities with, Marshall would always be her first choice. "The minute she found out about this program, she wanted to go, and I stopped her, thwarted her every step of the way. How much has she already missed out on because I…?"

"Mary, this isn't about what has already come and gone," he tightened his grip on her shoulder. "We've _all_ missed out on something in our lives – it comes with the territory. This is about where she can go from here, how much she stands to gain. I hope you can be content with that without worrying about what might've been."

"But, Marshall…" she wanted to buy into what he was saying because she knew it was true, and still it was hard to let go of the notion that she could've and should've done more. "It's not like any of us have time to waste. You should know that better than anyone…"

This might be a crass way to bring up the accident and the effects it had left all of them with as a result, but the man didn't seem to take unkindly to it at all. In fact, he smiled, which only caused his wife to look more puzzled. Here she thought she might've insulted him, but his face didn't indicate as much at all.

"I do know that…" he agreed quietly with a sound, steady nod. "But, I also think I know what it's like to feel that your life has passed you by – life you can never get back."

His words hit Mary like she'd been punched in the gut. Of course he knew what that was like. So much of his existence, to him, was now gone. It might return, but the world would keep spinning whether it did or not, and there was no sense sitting around waiting for the past to rematerialize. He would lose so much of his future that way and Mary had the feeling he didn't want to lose anymore.

"I'm an idiot," she whispered, which wasn't a very good apology, and yet Marshall seemed to find it funny.

"You know, that's how I _remember_ you saying, 'I'm sorry.'"

She gave a short, sour laugh, "I'm supposed to better at it now. I mean, Melissa is a pro. She apologizes for everything."

"Well, for what it's worth, I don't think you're an idiot," he clapped her shoulder this time, taking Mary back to their days as partners when she had been so finicky about even letting him touch her. "I think you understand as well as I do that you can only move forward; mistakes are simply hard to let go of."

"You'd think I'd know better; I just gave Brandi a speech yesterday along the lines of 'you can only move on' when she was bent out of shape about Matt's delivery…"

"That's what I mean," Marshall seemed rejuvenated that she was grasping his concept. "Relinquishing control and ownership to the past isn't easy, but when you're forced into it – like yours truly…" he inclined his head modestly and closed his eyes, causing Mary to smirk against her will. "…You realize there are all sorts of possibilities from starting over, living with only half your memories; a blessing in disguise is perhaps a little too strong, but…"

Now, the blonde couldn't help being curious. She had never been an optimist and probably never would be; sometimes, she surmised that-that was why she had married one. But, how could even Marshall be able to reconcile his situation to the point where he saw it as something positive, when Mary had only been looking at it as a curse? He was good, but was he _this_ good?

And so, slowly and deliberately, so he couldn't miss a single movement, she slipped her arms from his hold and looped them around his neck. She felt him sway slightly, still bound by his cast, but she was the one to give him strength this time, anchoring him to the ground. After everything he'd done for her – his patience, his kindness, in her lifetime or in his – it was the least she could do for him.

Her heart fluttered seeing him smile softly at the way she was showing her fondness. He didn't shy away and neither did she, her hands roaming his back, fingers soaking in the feel of his skin, a stray hand even reaching out to brush his bearded face. It was bristly and rough, the only part of Marshall she was having trouble getting used to, but it also served as a reminder – that he was here, and yet for a time he had not been here as well, and that she needed to continue to be tolerant, to understand his frustrations, to remember that approval on his part didn't mean he recalled everything. There was still a long way to go.

But, at the moment, he didn't look as though he found the journey particularly taxing, and he seemed to expect Mary's question as she gazed up into his cobalt eyes.

"So, what do you see now?" she reflected on his claims that his injury had caused him to look on the bright side. "What seems so…exceptional that maybe wouldn't if you hadn't gotten hurt?"

He was much faster than she could've anticipated, "You."

This earned him a cocked head and a raised eyebrow, "Me?"

"Yes, you," he was definite. Looming over her like the larger-than-life man Missy so often saw him as, he continued, "_You_ are exactly that. Exceptional. You don't like to give yourself much credit, Mary, and I am sorry to say that there are times I didn't either. At the risk of being offensive, I will tell you that I never would've believed you could grow as much as you have…"

"It's not offensive; it's understandable after all the years I spent stuck in a rut…" she added an aside, but Marshall apparently wanted to make his points one-by-one and didn't seem to hear her.

"It may have taken me some time to realize this – probably too much time – but, who you are now is who I always thought you could be…"

"I'm who I am now because of you…"

"No," he cut her off sharply, and his eyes had a sudden blazing look. "It's obviously been your efforts, not mine, that have turned you into the remarkable woman that stands before me…" he had never been shy about expressing his feelings, and now was no exception; he didn't even seem to notice Mary blushing furiously. "When you made the decision to become a mother, you made a whole host of other decisions along with it – to hell with convention and customary, to hell with your father, to hell with being afraid…"

"I'm still afraid sometimes, Marshall," she couldn't stand to have him make her sound more noble than she was; their fights over Melissa had proved she still had many unresolved issues. "You saw that, you heard that; when I tried to hold Missy back…"

"Nobody's perfect, remember?" a hint of a wink as he recalled Melissa's obsession with this at the hospital. "And nobody changes completely. I wouldn't _want_ you to change completely. It's your father that molded you into the world's deadliest mama bear, and I'd want nothing less for my kid, even if that protective instinct does go a little overboard on occasion…"

"I'd say it's a little more than 'on occasion,'" she grumbled, even though she knew he was partially teasing.

"But, don't you remember how you used to be with other people? How scared you were to let them in?"

Mary decided she could make a joke now, "I don't know. Do you remember?"

"Yes-yes, very funny…" he took it in stride, but then jumped right back on his horse. "And, as a matter of fact, I _do_ remember. The woman I thought I was married to when you dropped that bomb was a Mary who _never_ would've let three separate men be so close with her daughter. The Mary I remembered wouldn't have been so accepting of an ex-husband moving halfway across the country to have such an impact on her life; she wouldn't have let her little sister catch a break or stopped reminding her mother that she used to be drunk on her ass seven days a week…"

"Boy, you're making me sound like a real prize," she mused, but she understood where he was coming from, and also knew where he was going.

"And, I sure as hell don't think the old Mary would've actually been _friends_ with Eleanor."

"We are not _friends_…" the woman rolled her eyes just to prove a point.

"You have come so far in so many ways, and I never said it once I wrapped my head around this life we've made together…" he had always been skilled at giving speeches, and this had to be among Mary's favorites, egotistical as it might be. "But, I have garnered the best of both worlds. I have the Mary who is a bad ass that doesn't take no for an answer, and I have a Mary who's learned to rely on and trust those around her, who knows she doesn't have to do everything alone…"

"And that's a girl you can stand being married to?"

"Well, I can _more_ than 'stand it…'"

For the first time in what felt like ages, Mary knew what he was going to do before he did it – the ESP they had always possessed when it came to one another returning in full swing. Eyes shimmering above his beard, he leaned in – careful, gentle, always tender – and captured her lips in his. Automatically, one of her hands left his back and wove through his hair, her body seemingly pressing itself against his chest of her own volition, without her consent. She could hear his breathing singing through his nose, heard it rise to a faster tempo and she almost jumped when his fingers traveled down her back to the hem of her shirt.

The hand that had been roving through his locks seemed to have a mind of its own, knowing there was a child in the house, and any activities beyond kissing would have to wait. Her fingers closed around his that were itching to pull up her top and squeezed. Like clockwork, he got the message and refrained, slipping free to gaze, enraptured, into Mary's face.

"When I said it was a 'blessing in disguise…'" he harked back to that, his voice husky and slightly labored.

"Yeah…" Mary prompted, wondering what had become of her daughter, wondering if she was watching from the hall or simply knew better than to interrupt.

"I was talking about things like this. I might've spent the last eight years as your husband, but for me it's all new again, which means everything that was once routine is back to being exciting…"

"Only you would see it that way…" she joshed with a mischievous grin.

"I don't just mean kissing you."

"Or the things that kissing leads to…"

"I mean like…getting to watch you be a mom – a _great_ mom."

"I don't know about _great_, Marshall…"

"Well, I do," now he was the one who wouldn't back down. "I have an extraordinary command of intuition and observation; I'll have you know…"

"All right, easy tiger…"

"And, I know what I saw just a few minutes ago when Missy climbed on your lap."

For a split second, Mary was peculiarly embarrassed, as she'd forgotten Marshall had witnessed their exchange, although there was no reason to feel humiliated. Holding her daughter in her arms – a happy, healthy, boisterous daughter – had been one of the best sensations she'd had in a long time. Evidently, that came through to Marshall, as the spectator not so far away in his own world.

"I saw a woman who used to swear by isolation and seclusion that now knows there are few things more dear and priceless than the promise of family."

Family. Whether it was derived from Marshals and dancers, car salesmen and carpenters, mothers or fathers, men or women, it was only what you made it, only about receiving as much as you could give. Because, that was truly what Mary had learned. To give and give and give and give some more; to open your arms, to welcome everyone from your boss to your ex-husband to your trusted partner and say that as long as there's love, there is family.

XXX

**A/N: The epilogue is obscenely long. I mean, I know I say that a lot, but it is true this time. I wouldn't blame anyone for not sticking around for the whole thing, but for those that do, there is one last blast to go before this story wraps up! Thank-you, forever and always, for your continued support.**


	48. Epilogue

**A/N: Well, this is the end, my friends! This epilogue is probably hugely unnecessary, ridiculously long, horribly cheesy, and likely not worth trudging through, but I am posting it anyway! (Seriously, it is WAY too long – like, twenty pages in Microsoft Word, which is just insane; I never should've let it get so out-of-control). So, if you have time to sit down and slog through this, I am flattered and humbled, but even if you don't – I'm still flattered and humble. I have wonderful, loyal reviewers, and I am sorry to have to bid you all farewell for, to be precise, the seventeenth time, as that is how many stories I have logged on this site. Enjoy!**

XXX

**Nine Months Later:**

XXX

"Come on, Matty! Come on!"

"Miss…Miss…"

"Come on! Good boy!"

"Honestly, sweets. He's not a dog."

"He crawls like one."

"But, he is still a person, Little Missy. And, watch your step; the floor is slippery."

"I know…"

But, for all the attention the little girl paid her step-father, he might not have spoken at all. She dashed out the back door, barefoot and with grass sticking to the bottoms of her feet, settling for Brandi lifting Matthew into the air to join them in the yard.

The sun was beastly hot overhead, striking the back of Mary's neck like an overly persistent strobe light. Even from where she sat in the shade of a tree with Marshall, she could still feel herself sweating from every one of her pores; her black tank-top was soaked through. She was paying for wearing such a dark color; her husband had warned her, but she hadn't listened. She wondered how shocked he would be one day if she took his seemingly insignificant advice to heart.

The breeze was almost nonexistent on this steamy July day, and still Marshall's bare chest had dried in less than five minutes, his swim trunks the only thing that was keeping Mary cool as she nuzzled next to him. The jeans she had rolled up were dappled with water droplets from the sprinkler and wading through the kiddy pool designed for her nephew, and still she was roasting.

She was willing to bet, however, that Stan was regretting his choice of attire more than she was. He was in his Fourth-of-July-best, which consisted of slacks and a polo; but, it was far too hot to be wearing pants, even though she would've been flabbergasted to see the man in attire more casual. Even Eleanor had put on Capri pants and a sleeveless top. She had to keep handing him a handkerchief to wipe his brow from where they stood next to the grill, Mark flipping burgers in denim shorts and a white T-shirt you could see through since Melissa had drenched him with the hose.

Missy herself, who had been urged by many to just go put on a bathing suit, was a bright red blur darting through the grass after her fast-motoring cousin. Mark had purchased the crimson overalls she wore, cuffed at her knee, and styled with a navy T-shirt. To Mary, observing the chaotic scene before her, the child looked like she belonged in an Independence Day ad, except for the fact that her legs were streaked with dirt, her hair was coming out of its ponytail, and her glasses were flecked with water. Even so, she wouldn't have her any other way.

The party, if that was what you wanted to call it, had been impromptu and the very definition of last minute. Peter had-had to go out of town for work and when Brandi had complained that Matt wouldn't have a 'first Fourth of July' Jinx had taken charge and thrown a gathering together. Mark never worked on holidays, and so he was game; Eleanor certainly didn't need an excuse to bake cookies and pass out screen-printed flag napkins. And, as Mary liked to eat, she couldn't whine too heartily when her mother started passing out red, white, and blue Jell-O. It turned Melissa's teeth blue and tasted like it had come out of a box, but Mary didn't have the heart to tell Jinx, who was so proud of her concoction.

As the day had been so unplanned, there was little organization, and yet the female inspector thought that this was the best kind of get-together. The boys had busted out the hose and the sprinkler, Brandi had brought over the baby pool – while she pranced around in a bikini looking like she'd never given birth in her life – and that was that. Neither the kids, nor the adults, needed anything more than a way to keep cool and good conversation.

"Honey, don't put him in the pool until I get back, all right?" Brandi appealed to her niece as she set Matt on a towel at the water's edge. "I need to grab his shoes; they're still in the house. Can you watch him for a second?"

"Sure!" Melissa chirruped, always happy to look after the little boy, who was a towhead if Mary had ever seen one; white-blonde with the palest, bluest eyes; she hoped Brandi had slathered him in sunscreen. "Can I get him a little bit wet while we wait?"

"You can splash him with water, but don't put him in," Brandi was taking no chances leaving two children alone where one might drown. "He might like the water, though; I'm sure he's hot," she added, perhaps so she didn't sound quite so strict.

"Okay…" and, seizing a cup that was floating in the ankle-deep water, she filled it and sprinkled it over Matt's toes. He squirmed at first and whined, batting his hands as though to beat the water away, but Melissa was right there to reassure him. "It's okay, Matty. I won't do so much this time…"

"Good girl…" Brandi patted her head before jetting off, taking a leaf out of the little one's book by treating her like a dog with her phrasing.

Once her sister had vanished back into the house, Mary took it upon herself to keep an eye on the little ones, always captivated by what a little mother Melissa was. It was a trait she hadn't known she'd possessed until she'd had a baby to dote on, and she was so nurturing it was sometimes amusing. Matt could crawl with the best of them, chugging along like the perfect walrus, and still Melissa insisted on trying to hold his hand. At nine months old, he was already hankering for solid foods, and his cousin pouted when she couldn't get him to open his mouth to place a spoon inside.

"How long before she tries to pick him up and carry him?" Mary whispered in Marshall's ear, fingering the stray hairs on his chest. "My bet's on two minutes."

"If we're lucky, Brandi will be back before then," the man mused with a smirk. "I don't relish seeing him dropped."

"That makes two of us."

To go along with her maternal qualities, Missy was obsessed with trying to hold Matthew whenever possible, but he was really too big for her to manage on her own if she wasn't sitting down. This was a constant frustration for her, and she always became angry if someone had to remind her not to lift him on the off chance he would slip out of her arms.

"But, two minutes is a pretty safe guess," Marshall murmured, tipping his head back against the tree they were leaning against, no doubt trying to bask in the small bit of shade they could find. "Especially if she doesn't think anybody's watching."

"I can't help wondering how he'll feel once he's older about her coddling him all the time. He'll probably think she's bossy as hell," Mary chuckled trying to picture bigger versions of her daughter and nephew and was unable to form an image in her brain.

"Oh, probably, but I surmise he would think that even if she left well enough alone," her partner speculated. "In my experience, most little boys don't want the opposite sex running around with them – but, there are exceptions to every rule."

At that moment, Mark called from the grill where his face was shining with perspiration in the late afternoon sun; tossing three patties onto a nearby plate that appeared to be done.

"Missy Jean, you want a burger?" he shouted over his shoulder even though she was just a few feet away. "I can make you one with cheese…"

"Pickles, too," just in case he forgot. "Mom, can Matt have pickles?" this question was aimed behind her, and she squinted when the sun hit her retinas.

"Mmm, probably want to pass on that one," Marshall was the one who responded. "Pickles are pretty sour; I doubt he'd be crazy about them."

"But, I like them, so he might too!"

"He might," Mary agreed. "But, he really can't chew them, sweets. He barely has two teeth."

"All right…" the little girl sighed. "Are you going to have a burger, Mark?"

"Maybe, if I can get away from this grill before I burst into flames."

Knowing he wasn't serious, the soon-to-be-nine-year-old just giggled and got back to Matthew, now using her hands to pat him with cold water, since he hadn't been a fan of entire cupfuls being dumped on him. He was quieter this time, allowing his cousin to take charge, but the damp spots on his skin only meant his bare legs were covered in blades of grass; he looked like he'd gone for a roll through the yard.

Absorbed in her task, Missy didn't seem to hear the approaching footsteps of Stan and Eleanor, the latter sipping a glass of tea with lemon and the other rattling what just sounded like a cup of ice. Mary could only assume Stan was so hot he was merely crunching cubes, but she should've known better than that; it was customary for one boy or another to have something up their sleeve.

"Hey, captain; that's some handiwork you're doing on Matt," the bald one pointed out, bending over and plucking a few green slivers free. "Pretty soon he's going to look like a pine tree."

"I'm keeping him cool!" the little girl insisted, not the least bit ashamed. "Brandi won't let me put him in the pool yet."

"Smart woman," Stan praised. "But, you know, I think you're looking pretty warm yourself," he gazed down at her benevolently, perfectly casual, but Mary wasn't fooled anymore.

"The thermometer by the back door says its ninety-five degrees," Missy proclaimed without preamble.

"Yikes!" the older man bellowed, and his performance caused Marshall to laugh, far enough away that the child probably wouldn't hear; the chief wasn't exactly the best actor. "Scorching! Like the sun itself!"

"If you walked on the sun, it would be ten _million_ degrees."

Stan should've guessed that she would know this little tidbit, and Mary distinctly saw him moving closer to her, his shadow rippling across the grass. Eleanor stayed behind, but grinned fondly at the pair of them, wanting no part of whatever her boyfriend had planned. Even so, that didn't mean it wouldn't be fun to watch.

"I'd say that would burn the shoes right off my feet," the boss decided. "What do you think?"

"You wouldn't be alive if you made it that far to the sun, Stan!"

"My mistake, my mistake…" he mused. And, on the pretext of leaning over to smooth Matt's tousled hair, he came in for the kill, tipping his cup at just the right angle. "But, I don't think you'll have any trouble feeling alive…after _this_!"

In one swift move, he had pulled on Melissa's collar and slid the entire cup of ice cubes into her shirt and down her back, stray chunks falling out and pinging onto the grass like absurdly falling snow. Predictably, she screamed as though she had been pelted with sniper fire and jumped up, nearly tripping over Matt as she did so. Unfortunately, he began to cry at the loud noise, but for once Melissa paid him no mind. She flung herself at Stan, who understood enough to hoist her into the air, cubes still caught due to the tightness of her overall straps, slipping over her sizzling skin by the second.

"STAN!" her glasses bounced up and down as he shook her like a soda bottle, trying to release the freezing squares. "It's cold! It's cold! It's cold!"

"You said you were hot, Missy!"

"I said _Matt_ was hot!" she feigned annoyance, but it wasn't hard to tell she had enjoyed his trick. "You didn't do it to _him_!"

"That'll teach you to complain, won't it, sister?"

But, Stan was only joking, and Marshall obviously saw this as a window he could step through, slithering seamlessly away from Mary's side, a Machiavellian grin spreading from ear-to-ear.

"I think revenge is calling my name…" he murmured in his wife's ear with a quick kiss on her cheek.

"You sound like a cheap video game," she insulted him snidely. "Lay off the mob movies, doofus."

But, his blue orbs just twinkled and he arched his eyebrows twice in her direction, "I do love a good 'doofus.'"

It wasn't an affectionate nickname that most couples would use, but Mary and Marshall had never been 'most' couples. And so, she found it in her to smile back at him as he galloped away, his long, lanky frame off to the patio where all the food and drink was set up. With him gone, and best left to his own devices, the woman decided she had better do something about her nephew, who was now shrieking like a siren, tears streaming down his cheeks at being disregarded. He'd probably forgotten what had even scared him at this point, but that was still no reason to leave him alone.

Side-stepping Stan, who might very well pop Melissa's head off like a champagne cork with the way he was springing her up and down, she rescued Matt from his solitary towel. He was damp and quivery, both on his flesh as well as his bottom, taking great, heaving gulps of air.

"Calm down, Bruiser…" Mary whispered lovingly. "You're okay. Hordes of people aren't exactly my idea of a fun time either, but you take what you can get, you know?"

His only answer was a loud hiccup, but the touch of another person seemed to be enough to settle him down, and he snuggled into Mary's chest, placing soggy spots on her already moist tank-top.

"There you go…" she soothed, kissing one of his round, cherub cheeks. "See? Making a fuss over nothing."

Sopping wet he might be, but there were few things that Mary treasured more than a few minutes alone with this little boy who she had somehow helped bring into the world. He brought her a different kind of joy than Melissa had, but he also reminded her of what life had been like when she'd been tiny – and how much she missed the times when her little girl had been so small. As time continued to fly by, she grew more and more grateful that she had been given the opportunity to watch another child grow up. Matt was someone to spoil, someone to make goofy faces with when she was sure no one was looking and someone, as Melissa herself had pointed out, that proved there was still perfection left in the world.

"Your cousin is making quite a racket, huh?" the inspector bounced him on her hip, relieved to see Brandi emerging from the house, although she stopped to grab a handful of chips. "Mama's on her way. Give her a wave, why don't you? That'll be sure to send her into conniptions."

Only for his benefit did Mary waggle her fingers in an attempt to get him to imitate her, which would have Brandi or Jinx breaking out the video camera in seconds. However, he merely stared blankly like he couldn't imagine what she was doing, and this almost made her happier than if he'd done as she'd asked; the deadpan look was just that humorous.

"Someday, Matty," and, another kiss just for good measure.

"Ah, caught with your hand in the cookie jar!" Brandi trumpeted as she came near, licking her fingers free of salt from the potato chips she had snagged.

By this, she meant that it wasn't often Mary ever let anyone witness her being an old softie, and even though it was already so steamy out, she somehow managed to feel her cheeks grow red. However, she didn't want to give her little sister the satisfaction of thinking she was right, and so covered her flush with a scoff.

"And, just how heartless do you think I am to ignore a crying baby?" she jeered. "I am not a monster, Squish."

"Mmm hmm…" Brandi clucked through a full mouth. "Too bad you _still_ want to convince everyone you are."

"Not true."

"_Yes_, true," a contradictory finger in her chest, which gave Mary good reason to shove her lightly, making sure to keep a tight grip on Matt the whole time. "You're telling me you're not still trying to project the tough-girl role when you turn into a puddle of mush every time you're around my boy?" she made goggle eyes at her son as she said this, which prompted a shy, toothless smile.

Mary decided the best defense was none, and just skated over the accusation, "Yeah, speaking of _boys_…" she accentuated. "How does Peter feel about you running around practically naked, huh?" she drew a finger up and down the younger Shannon's form, indicating her petite pink bikini.

"That he has a hot wife," she winked, obviously with no plans to take offense to her big sister's comments.

Before Mary could roll her eyes at this, because Brandi being at one with her own sexuality wasn't what she'd had in mind when she'd insinuated she put some more clothes on, a second, lower-pitched holler sounded from behind them. It caused both sisters to whirl around for the source of the commotion, for a shout that deep couldn't belong to Melissa.

"Oh, a dirty trick! Underhanded, I say!"

Stan, sounding very much like a disgruntled pirate, had clearly just had the tables turned on him by Marshall, who had given him a taste of ice down his back. Melissa squealed delightedly as the boss man wiggled on the spot, almost as though he were doing some ridiculous jig, and she came free of his clutches, landing smack in the kiddy pool.

"It takes two to tango, chief," Marshall declared. "You didn't think I'd let my girl fight her battle without backup. Come on, you taught me better than that."

"You know…" Eleanor suddenly seemed highly amused at the figure of her significant other hopping on the spot, trying to dig ice cubes out by un-tucking his shirt. "I think I may need to get in on this. There isn't some sort of 'no girls allowed' policy on terrorizing the boss, is there?"

Melissa spoke up from the pool before anyone else could answer, "No way!"

"You heard the lady," Marshall inclined his head, inviting the office manager on.

"Good," Eleanor said, and without further ado she poured the last of her iced tea over Stan's gleaming bald pate.

Mark whooped loudly from his place beside the grill and Brandi apparently couldn't hold in her laughter either. Dripping and sticky to boot, Stan wiped under his eyelids, looking wholly defeated by everyone ganging up on him because he had dared go after Melissa.

"Hazards of having a woman who can think for herself, Stan…" Marshall reminded him with a chuckle, and his eyes flicked upward slightly to meet Mary's. "But, a hazard I'm willing to take."

"Yes, I suppose you're right…" he was forced to agree. "But, that doesn't mean I take assaults lying down…"

In seconds, pandemonium was reigning all over again. With a shrill howl that would send the birds flying south early, Stan had Eleanor around the waist and had shoved her into the miniature pool right alongside Melissa. As the water was so shallow, this wasn't quite the comeback he might've been looking for, but there was no telling that to the participating parties. It was as if he'd thrown his girlfriend fully clothed into the ocean, and after that there was no going back.

The bedlam seemed to occur around Mary right than with her, and yet that was the way she liked it. She watched as Eleanor, normally so stodgy and refined, began kicking great tides of water onto the men, spraying them with splashes, and Melissa soon followed suit. In the midst of the action, Marshall grabbed his little girl without anyone noticing and, in seconds, she was riding on his shoulders, a higher view than anyone around as she shielded her eyes against the sun and rode amongst the treetops.

You couldn't expect Mark to stay out of the action, and when Mary next looked for him at the grill, he was gone, hands at the knobs on the house that operated the sprinkler. And, when Marshall had wandered into the path of the stream, he turned to the right with an almighty squeak and it was raining up, drenching both step-father and child.

"Thwarted, Little Missy!" Marshall proclaimed, spitting water out of his mouth. "Man the life boats!"

"Good thing you've got the captain, or you'd be dead in the water!" Stan had since been left behind, provided with a towel to dry his head by a pitying Eleanor. "Look out for those piranhas!"

"They're gonna eat me, Marshall!" Missy was always happy to engage in a little make believe, waving her hands in front of the man's face to catch the wetness that couldn't reach her up on high. "They have sharp teeth; they're gonna eat me!"

"They are herbivores, after all!"

Melissa was too quick for him, "Nuh-uh! Omnivores! They eat plants _and_ animals!"

"You mean you're not made of seaweed?"

"No!"

"But, here I thought a string bean like you only had to be eating lettuce…"

And, the inspector flipped her upside-down so she was directly over the spurts of water swishing back and forth in the sprinkler, and even though she tried to scream, she was laughing the entire time, blood rushing into her face from hanging feet off the ground.

"Marsh…alllll!" her cry was warbling and riddled with breathless giggles. "My…glasses…!"

"You mean your _goggles_!"

"They'll break!"

"Says who?"

"Marshall, really…" Mary was enjoying the show, it was true, but in spite of feeling like she was apart from all the gaiety, she still couldn't forget her place as overprotective mom. "…Be careful."

"Who, me?" he put on a face of mock innocence while her daughter flailed the air like a cat. "I'm always careful."

And, this was a man whom it was indeed difficult to argue with. Mary tilted her head as she gazed at his pleased-as-punch smile, trickling water from the lobes of his ears and his chin, loping around in his ludicrously orange swimming trunks while her little girl dangled from his grasp, and she knew if you couldn't trust him with your child, you couldn't trust anyone. Melissa's red overalls were weighing her down and her ponytail was completely drenched, like she'd been for a walk in the rain, but still she screeched with mirth, pretending she was surrendering when really she wanted it to go on and on.

For, who else but Marshall could make you feel so safe teetering at your wit's end, seemingly free falling with no way to escape? Mary could just barely make out the scar that ran from his knee to his ankle from this distance, the scar that meant he still tripped at unexpected moments or was stiff in the morning. And still, he was here; he was as giant as he had ever been – too good, too pure, sometimes, to be real.

And, even if he had to resort to lying on the couch for the rest of his life, no longer able to take bullets in the chest, or equipped to chase Melissa left and right he would still be all those things. In his limbs, in his head, and most importantly, in his heart, he was remarkable no matter what.

"He's so funny…" Brandi sniggered next to her, yanking Mary out of her sentiment. "Marshall. He's like a big kid."

"Yeah, something like that…" her sister whispered, knowing it was more than that, but willing to let her description stand. "Well, not just him. He has his neighborhood gang, after all…"

For the remainder of the men had left their posts and dove into the sprinkler as well, just like a group of adolescent teenagers that wanted to see who could run the fastest, scream the loudest, jump the highest. They could sometimes be as juvenile and as sophomoric as they came, and yet if they really were those things, their silliness wouldn't be displayed on behalf of an eight-year-old girl.

"Jesus, look at Mark…" Brandi was obviously still highly entertained, pointing toward the man who was trying to flip through the sprinkler; he was not exactly as light on his feet as he used to be and only managed some very dorky-looking spins. "He's going to break his neck…"

"Yeah, and he'd still think the whole thing was a big laugh," the older guessed, stealing a look at Matt, who was also blinking at the exhibit in front of him, like he was unsure what to make of the whole thing. "What do you say, Bruiser? You gonna act the fool just for some girl one day?" poking his chubby arm.

"Well, she's not just _some_ girl…" Eleanor was back, sidling into the Shannon's discussion, allowing her wet ankles to dry on their own. "She is _the_ girl. I've known since the minute I got involved with Stan that I was going to come in second to Missy."

"I hope these aren't regrets I'm hearing," Mary inferred, but knew they weren't.

"Not even a little bit," the office manager was nothing if not diplomatic. "She makes him feel young, Mary. We could all use a little of that on occasion."

Seeing as how Stan was now plunging Mark's head into the twelve-prong stream and was encouraging the almost-third-grader to do the same once she was off Marshall's shoulders, Mary could see what her colleague meant. And, still, she was known for her cynicism, and she couldn't have those in her company thinking she was becoming overly schmaltzy.

"So, we're just going to be children for the rest of our lives. Is that it?"

"There are worse things we could be," Brandi saw eye-to-eye with Eleanor, and grinned when the older woman allowed Matt to begin yanking on the chain around her neck. "Being a grown-up isn't all it's cracked up to be."

"I will drink to that…" Eleanor piped up, but had to raise an empty hand, Matthew almost choking her as she did so. "That is, I would – if I hadn't emptied my beverage just a few minutes ago."

"Just what we need," Mary snarked. "Are you joining the band of little kids now?"

"Oh, lighten up, Mary; it is a holiday," the brunette encouraged. "We can be adults again tomorrow."

And, it seemed that they would, in fact, have to hold out until the next day before they could expect the boys to give up their antics. Their behavior at the moment reminded Mary so much of how they had acted on Melissa's fifth birthday almost four years previously. That day had been full of laughs and merriment and insanity as well, and Missy had lapped up every single second. Instead of trying to drown one another, they had engaged in races from fence-to-fence, tossing feather boas over their shoulders, and making embarrassing animal noises for all to hear.

Eleanor was right, though Mary would never say so out loud. Days like these, with the blazing sun and the cloudless blue sky, the universe seemed to come to a standstill just to make room for family to appreciate one another. In Missy's case, the family was her legion of men – how it had always been, how it would always be if her mother had anything to say about it. For, every other batch of twenty-four hours was filled with the same routine: school and work, peers and partners, teachers and witnesses, problems and solutions. To set all that aside, just for a day, was something that even Mary would find very hard to say no to.

"Stan, don't overdo it!" Eleanor went back on her philosophy when she hollered at her boyfriend after seeing him carrying Melissa piggyback through the sprinkler. "Watch your back; I don't want you to throw it out again!"

"Ah, we'll keep an eye on the old man," Marshall promised.

"Now, what fish am I, Missy?" the oldest of the trio wanted to know, completely ignoring his better half. "Any of those swimmers carry their fellow fish to safety?"

She was clinging tight to his neck, too caught up in the excitement to bother to answer, but Marshall, as the walking dictionary, was ready with his usual fount of facts.

"Male seahorses carry the babies instead of the females," his education never ended.

"That's an image I'm not sure I needed," Mark chimed in, and his ex-wife had to snicker, jouncing Matt a little more when he began to whimper, wishing to keep him close too much to bother handing him back to Brandi. "Technology may have come a long way, but the pregnant man…"

"Men can't have _babies_!" Missy bleated, relinquishing her hold on Stan momentarily to mop at her dribbling face. "Not even seahorses!"

"Au contraire, Little Missy…" Marshall held up a pointed finger, but he didn't get any further than that before his protégée broke in.

"That's French!"

"Très doué!" Marshall concurred, impressed. "Translation, ma'am?"

"Very good!"

"Close…" they were veering off topic, but they were good at that and, after all, Melissa was secure on the rear of everyone's favorite boss. "Very gifted or very talented – actually, not the best syntax now I stop to think about it, but even so…"

"Jesus, only these two would sit around and give each other grammar lessons in the middle of a water fight…"

And, with this remark of mock-disdain, she turned from the picture she had been viewing – magnificent as it was – and went to retrieve Matt's towel from beside the pool, hoping it was still dry. Regardless of how blistering it was under the baking sun, he seemed to be growing uncomfortable with his clammy skin and, as his aunt didn't want to let him go, she sought to soothe him as best she could.

Eleanor peeled off, back to the refreshment table on the patio where Jinx was setting out another jug of lemonade – yellow lemonade, not pink – but Brandi joined her. At first, Mary thought she was just trying to keep an eye on her little boy, but it turned out she wasn't done rhapsodizing about what she undoubtedly viewed as the ideal afternoon.

"I'm glad you decided to have this party, Mare…" she gushed, tilting her chin to catch the rays streaming down on her face, her older sister trying to capture the towel without setting Matt down. "It's so nice to just relax and have fun; Peter and I have been so busy at the Autoplex. I look at the calendar and can't believe Matty's going to be a year old in just a couple of months…"

Mary's stomach contracted strangely at the mention of her nephew reaching his first birthday. He was still so little; he could barely talk; he could barely go mobile on his own. Couldn't he stay little just a tiny bit longer? She hoped Brandi wasn't in too much of a hurry to have him grow up.

"Here you go, bud…" the taller murmured, skillfully wrapping the cover around him. He burrowed into the softness, likely ready for a nap, and rested his cheek on her chest with a sweet, contented sigh. "Take a load off…"

This time, Brandi didn't notice when she pressed her lips to his forehead and used the towel to cover most of his head, hoping he'd doze off with just a tiny bit of darkness created by her torso and the makeshift blanket.

"I mean, Missy is going to be starting school again soon; can you believe it?"

"I can't," Mary was truthful; half-wishing that if she didn't divert that Brandi would drop the subject. "Third grade. Seems like yesterday she was this size," she indicated Matt.

The younger Shannon's features softened almost at once, and all of a sudden Mary decided she didn't mind, the shouts and screams from the jolliest among them just a distant echo now. She didn't like feeling sappy or even sad on days that were reserved for fun. Sometimes, she thought she'd never really learned how to have fun.

"Nothing's bothering you, is it, Mare?"

This question alone proved she knew her sister was out of sorts, but that didn't mean Mary was keen on admitting it.

"What's to be bothered about?"

"Well, I don't know…" Brandi hedged and then continued, "You seem kind of…" dancing around the right term. "…Introspective."

"Introspective," Mary snorted, now rocking Matt back and forth. "You belong with _that_ group if you're going to use words like that," nodding at the spraying, shrieking cluster beyond.

"Whatever…" the other was not deterred. "You just seem like there's something on your mind."

"I'm not allowed to have things on my mind?"

"You are…"

"Today's not the time to talk about it. You were right; it's been a great day, and I don't need to ruin it."

The phrases were oddly familiar and they took Mary back, once again, to Melissa's birthday – not just her fifth, but every other. She turned perfectly cheerful instances into opportunities to reflect on the bad instead of the good. Every year that her daughter celebrated, she remembered how they had nearly lost their lives, how harrowing the fire had been, how her child had soldiered through life in the NICU to get where she was today.

And now, on the Fourth of July, which really had no special significance to her, Mary was all-but teary-eyed over the fact that her little girl was getting older – as everyone in the world did if they were lucky. It was so traditional, so cliché and she was masking it with scornful statements about how the boys couldn't be immature forever.

"Well…" Brandi seemed not to know where to go from here, but she nudged herself a little closer to Mary – skimpy bikini and all – and resolved to make the effort. "Telling me isn't ruining anything. No one else has to know. I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I am…" the inspector nodded. "I _should_ be. And, I am," repetition, as if to make herself believe it. "This is more 'okay' than anything that's happened in the last year. Everybody's here, everybody's healthy; I shouldn't be asking for anything else."

"But…"

"But…" her sister's rare intuition got to her. "I don't want it to end. Pretty dumb, huh?"

Matthew was whistling through his nose on her chest; she could feel his pudgy body rising up and down against hers. Melissa was yelling something about fish not being the same as sharks. Mark had gotten a hold of the hose again and seemed to be saturating the grass in moisture, as well as squirting it at anyone within reach. Stan, though winded, was still indulging Missy's lessons with his hands on his knees and Marshall was shaking his hair out like he was a dog. The epitome of the ordinary and the extraordinary lived in all of them.

Brandi must've seen her staring because she guessed for herself what Mary meant by mentioning 'the end.'

"Nobody wants days like these to be over. I don't…" a short, silly laugh. "I mean, I have to go back to work tomorrow…"

"Squish, that's not what I mean…"

"But, that's why you have to enjoy the moments you have, isn't it?" she ignored Mary's aside, pulling it all together as well as she was able in just a few second's time. "Don't let it pass by because you're dwelling about when it'll happen again."

This was far easier said than done, and as if on cue, a horn sounded from the other side of the house, meaning there was a car parked in the driveway. It was a car Mary had been expecting, one she knew she should embrace with open arms, and yet wished were not sitting at the curb ready to pull the plug on their splendid holiday. A selfish, egocentric feeling welled up inside her and she smashed it with every bit of inner strength she had. This was good. She wanted this. She needed it – Melissa needed it. All of them did.

The noise had distracted Brandi from their discussion, but everyone else was still caught in the throes of their game, which meant Mary had to call out to get their attention. It was the mature thing to do – the responsible task.

"Melissa!"

She stopped where she was sprawled on the ground, worming her way over the spouts of the sprinkler like she was giving Marshall, Mark, and Stan a demonstration on how sea creatures moved.

"What?"

"I think Jasmine is here."

"Oh…!"

In seconds, she was up, brushing off the bottoms of her feet with her hands as well as the seat of her overalls, but Mary wasn't going to let her get away with leaving the house looking like she'd been washed up on the beach. She might be new to this whole 'friend' thing, but she was pretty sure your kid was supposed to be look presentable when they went to sleep over at someone else's house.

"Hey, come over here; let me look at you…"

The longer she could delay, the better, but Melissa was as eager about this as anything else, and she scurried right up to her mother. The boys were oohing and ahhing in the background, chattering advice about all the fun she was going to have watching fireworks and making s'mores and who knew what else. They were over the moon about this opportunity. Mary longed to be able to say the same.

She broke away from her sister and, instead of stooping down to examine her daughter so she wouldn't wake Matt; she scrutinized her from above – scraped knees, dirty overalls, lanky hair, and all.

"Yeah, you look like you've been swimming in a creek with leeches…" she told her unfashionably, but Missy didn't seem to mind. "I want you to change your clothes; put on something clean and wash your legs and your face – comb your hair. Get Jinx to help if she's not busy, okay?"

"But, will Jasmine leave if I don't hurry up?" she wondered meekly.

"No, I'll go and say hello," Mary swore. "You get all your stuff together – make _sure_ you have everything; we packed it this morning – and then come on out and say goodbye before you leave."

"Okay…!"

"Okay…"

Just like that, she was off, ready for a new adventure, pattering up to the patio to see if her grandmother could lend a hand so she could leave even sooner. It was amazing how fast the celebration dissipated with her absence. Mark turned off the sprinkler and tried wiping his face with his shirt, which was already moisture-ridden. Stan, who had been running around with his shirt tails hanging out, now un-tucked his polo completely and went to join Eleanor in a cold beer. Marshall took it upon himself to straighten things up around the almost-empty kiddy pool, for it was littered with shoes, Matt's toys, and wadded up towels.

Seeing that he was zonked, Brandi took her son from Mary and went to place him on a lawn chair, much to the aunt's disappointment. This left the woman with nothing to do, nothing to focus on until Melissa returned, and while she should go out and greet the mother waiting in the car, she signaled to Marshall to do that job for her.

While he was gone, Mark wandered into her midst, sucking wind from trying to behave like a teenager again.

"You wouldn't happen to have a towel, would you?" he asked, no doubt noticing that his shirt wasn't really getting the job done.

"Yeah…" Mary said absently, detouring back to the tree she had once been sitting under with Marshall and grabbing the cloth from a diminishing stack. "Here…"

"Thanks…" he expressed, finally able to mop up his face properly. "Ah, it has been quite a day. I might pop a lung any second, no joke, but…" a good-natured shrug.

"Yeah, you are not exactly a gymnast," Mary scoffed. "What's with the back flips?"

"Hey, I used to be pretty agile in my youth!" he defended himself, boyish brown eyes twinkling. "An acrobat, some might say! But, you know…so I've lost a step or two…"

"You're not sixteen anymore," his ex-wife reminded him. "You could get hurt."

"What, are you _my_ mother now too?" he inferred. "Next you'll be telling me not to read in the dark because it's bad for my eyes…"

"You read?"

Mark slapped her on the arm as penance for her insult and she forced a smile, glad Brandi wasn't around to continue grilling her about the many stupid things that were troubling her. She glimpsed Marshall coming back through the far gate, which meant he had said hello to the mother and daughter duo shipping Melissa off for her holiday sleepover. His wife hoped he had asked them out of their roasting vehicle, but knowing Marshall he probably had – with offers of food and drink as well. Maybe they were right behind him and Mary just couldn't see. And yet, in spite of wanting to be hospitable hosts, she couldn't help wishing they would keep their distance.

"Missy Jean is going to have such a great time tonight…" Mark must've spotted Marshall coming back as well, or else he was reading Mary's mind. "What's better than a couple of giggling girlfriends getting to stay up late?"

"You have a lot of experience with that?" the blonde raised her eyebrows, anything to deflect from her true feelings on her daughter leaving the house. "Staying awake 'till midnight – having pillow fights?"

"Well, the pillow fights were with the boys when I was Missy's age…" he reflected. And then, with an impish grin, "Late nights with the girls came _later_. You can't tell me you've forgotten _that_."

"I'm taken, douche bag," she was the one to smack him this time, but it bothered him as little as it bothered her.

"Anyway, it's so nice for her to have a good friend; this Jasmine seems like great fit…" the man went on, not noticing that his companion was a little vacant, watching the back door a little too closely. "I know she's shyer than Missy, but they seem to get along so well. Plus, she's got those boys she met in that fancy-pants class they put her in; she plays with them all the time…"

"Just make sure she's not having slumber parties with _them_."

For once, they agreed, "Not until she's thirty."

She wasn't thirty – she wasn't even nine yet – and still the screen door slid open, meaning Melissa had changed her clothes in what had to be record time. She boasted a backpack on her shoulders, a sleeping bag rolled up under her arm, which was almost too heavy for her to carry, but she managed by tilting to one side. It wasn't the traveling items that shocked Mary into thinking she might honestly be reaching adulthood sooner than she was ready for it, but the outfit she had put on to replace her previously soaking one.

It didn't take comments from her mother to alert Melissa to the novelty of her new attire. As she skipped across the deck and down the two steps back into the yard, it could be heard from every party she passed, purposeful surprise at what she had chosen to wear.

"No overalls!"

"Missy, where's your overalls?"

"Captain, I hardly recognize you!"

"That girl's my Little Missy?! No way! She's not wearing her overalls!"

The child giggled around at all of them, clearly enjoying the attention, and Mark left Mary's side to join in the light teasing, pretending he couldn't distinguish what she had on as clothes, twanging the fabric and squinting.

It was odd how a perfectly everyday outfit could look so out of place. Missy had on denim shorts and a red shirt sprinkled with tiny white polka dots. Jinx had pulled her hair out of its ponytail and brushed it so it hung; reasonably wet, on her shoulders, a darker blonde than usual. And, though her glasses and tiny stature made her look like Melissa, act like Melissa, and sound like Melissa, Mary still almost felt she was looking at a stranger. Until now, she hadn't realized how childlike the overalls made her little girl appear. It was jarring, and a little too much to take in when she was having a hard enough time sending her off for just one night.

"It's too hot to wear my long ones…" she was explaining to the onlookers in the middle of Mary's thoughts. "And, my other short ones are in the laundry. Do I still look okay?"

As if she even had to ask.

"You look smashing!" Marshall boomed passionately.

"Beautiful," Mark agreed.

"Adorable," and Stan.

"Say, Missy, are you sure you have everything?" Marshall got back in on the action, interrupting all the accolades. "Jasmine and her mom are waiting right over there…" he pointed to the gate where the pair had indeed walked through; Mary had missed them the first time. Marshall waved and held up a finger, saying they'd just be a minute. "Pajamas…?"

"Yep…"

"Toothbrush?"

"Yep…"

"Clothes for tomorrow?"

"Yep…"

"Sleeping bag?"

"Yep…"

"Room for me in your backpack?"

"Ye…what?!" she squealed, almost fooled. "Marshall, you can't come!"

"Ack – I'm wounded!" he staggered backward, hand over his heart as though he were mortally offended. "No slumber party for me?! Who's going to eat all the popcorn and change the channel fifty times?!"

"It's for _girls_…" she told him, though the glint in her eye said she knew he was only playing around. "_Only_."

But, if this wasn't the final blow, Mary didn't know what was. Her child, who had grown up around men, who had been partial to and won over by boys her entire life, was finally easing away from how she had forever been raised. Suddenly, Mary missed – deeply missed – the little girl she feared Melissa no longer was. A little girl who was dependant and hung on to every word Marshall, Mark, or Stan uttered like they were akin to God. She knew that person still lived inside her daughter – and this afternoon was proof – but that she was slowly distancing herself, not because she wanted to, but because that was the way life worked. The world kept turning; kids grew up, dads grew old, and Mary knew deep in her heart that she had always wanted more for Melissa than her dazzling trio. Now that it was here, it was just a little hard to accept.

"Well, do try not to have _too_ much fun without me…" Marshall was saying. "Come here and give me a hug, all right? I'll see you tomorrow…"

The embrace was brief as her step-father patted her head and then kissed her hair for good measure. Mary watched as they all took it in turns to bid her farewell, as though she were leaving on some long journey, not to return for months when in actuality it wasn't even twenty-four hours.

"You be a good girl, use your manners, okay?" that was Mark, always wanting her to make a good impression. "Say 'please' and 'thank-you…'"

"I know…" Missy indulged him. "Bye, Mark…"

"Till next time captain!" Stan sent his trademark salute and his pupil followed suit, just like an officer in the navy. "Save me a cookie."

"Sure, Stan…"

"Matt's asleep, sweetheart, but I'll give you a kiss from him, okay?" Brandi placed two loud smacks on her niece's cheeks, causing her to giggle. "You have fun."

"I will."

Jinx and Eleanor settled for waving from where they were lounging on the patio, and then there could be no more delays. Melissa was calling hurried goodbyes to anyone she might have missed; trotting across the grass, and Mary pictured her figure growing smaller and smaller, swallowed by the great, shining sun. But, before she could get too far, before she went and grew up overnight and, heaven forbid her mother missed it, she made herself speak, made sure she didn't get left behind.

"Hey!"

The child turned, expectant, and then saw Mary beckoning her from her spot in the shade of the tree. Without asking anything along the lines of 'what now?' she did as was being requested and jogged back. Aware of every eye upon them, but doing her best to ignore the stares, Mary knelt down in the grass and saw a face that was more nervous than she was expecting. Minutes ago, she had been bursting with exhilaration about her first sleepover, perfectly willing to leave home in the rearview, and now she looked unsure.

Maybe she was afraid Mary wasn't going to let her go. After all, it was Marshall who had convinced the other parent this was okay, as the blonde had been childishly against it when the suggestion had first come up. But, she wasn't going to hang on; the boys had schooled her that allowing Melissa to spread her wings and fly was going to bring more opportunities in the end, and they had been right. They'd yearned for this, longed for it when Missy had been an outcast, picked on and teased for being different. Mary would do well to remember that.

And so, she looked into her daughter's face, who swallowed slowly, and knew she only had a few seconds left to play mom.

"Okay…" she sighed. "Well, it sounds like you didn't forget anything. I heard Marshall go through the list with you."

"Uh-huh."

"Listen…" she didn't want to give her any ideas, but also wanted to cover all the bases. "If you get homesick or scared and want to leave, just tell Jasmine's mom; she can call someone to come pick you up, all right?"

"I don't think I'll get homesick."

It was true she had stayed away from this house before, but it had never been with someone that wasn't Brandi, Jinx, Stan, or Mark.

"Well, just in case…" Mary insisted. "I don't want you to be embarrassed if you end up feeling that way. It happens to lots of kids."

A nod, "Okay."

"Okay."

They seemed to be saying that a lot and Mary knew she was stalling. Instinct made her reach up to straighten a slipping overall buckle, but was startled when she remembered they weren't there. If that wasn't a signal for her to let her little girl go off on her own, she didn't know what was.

"All right, well…" she tried to smile, but the muscles in her face felt stiff. "Like Mark said, be polite. I know I don't have to tell you that."

Another nod.

"And…I know you get tired of hearing this, but…"

The eight-year-old's smile was genuine, kind and understanding, "I'll be careful. I promise."

And, there could be nothing more to say after that, and so it was Mary's turn to bob her head and follow suit of everyone else.

"Come here…"

In seconds, they were in each other's arms, Mary trying her very hardest not to hang on for dear life, not to fall into some horrible movie cliché and start crying. She wasn't going off to college or getting married; it was one night, one time; she would be back before noon the next day. And still, when she thought of her fragile baby in a house she'd never seen, doing things she couldn't picture, enjoying herself in this hazy otherworld to which Mary did not belong, her belly flip-flopped like she was about to be sick. Every day, always, she had known where Melissa was and could pick up the phone the second she wanted her back or wanted to know how she was. Today, they ventured into the realm of the uncertain and the loss of control still bothered Mary most of all.

"I love you, sweets. You know that, don't you?"

"Yeah…" she whispered with a tiny giggle, which spoke to the obviousness of the declaration. "I love you too."

And, just like that, it was over. She was gone, relinquished of Mary's clutches, racing across the grass, her hair rippling in the glowing yellow light overhead, the waves in the pool catching that same radiance and shining like jewels at the bottom of the ocean. Skinny legs, pumping arms, clumsy gait and all, she pressed on until she was at the gate, waving at the door once she was united with her friend, and disappearing out of sight.

Everyone else dispersed once she vanished, chattering about everything from the weather to the food to where the closest fireworks display was and if the noises would bother Matt's ears. Mary watched them as if through a film, like a heat haze was casting itself over her vision, warbling and fuzzy on her lids. Falling off her kneeling position, she sat with her back against the tree, comforted by the shade, but suddenly feeling goose bumps even though it was nearly a hundred degrees. If she looked ahead closely enough, she almost thought she could still see the outline of her daughter emblazoned on the clear blue sky, but it was a mirage – nothing more, nothing less.

She didn't know how long she sat there, lost in her thoughts, before she was joined by the one person who could probably lift her spirits when they were down for what the woman considered a ridiculous reason. Sleepovers were child's play; that Mary was fretting or wallowing this much was beyond silly. Melissa had been to school, after all; she spent eight hours a day apart from her family. And yet, school seemed different, somehow; it was mandatory and seemed imbedded with safety precautions. Why she thought this, after she'd nearly been burned alive in one and Melissa had-had to endure relentless teasing in the same building, she didn't know. Perhaps she was spoiling for an explanation of her haphazard emotions.

Marshall settled himself comfortably beside her and wove an arm around her back before he said anything. And then, even though he knew without asking, he asked anyway.

"You okay over here?"

She really didn't have it in her to pretend, "I've never let her stay with strangers before."

"These people are not strangers," he reminded her gently. "You've gotten to know the parents well enough and you trust them…"

"I don't trust anyone."

"You do, and this proves it," he declared. "I know you, Mary. If you really thought these folks were suspect, you would never let Melissa stay over there. You have a radar on individuals to rival anyone. And, don't think I don't know you ran background checks on both mom and dad."

Mary sighed, "Stan squealed."

Marshall just chuckled, probably knowing that it was actually harder for her to send her child away when she _knew_ there was no good reason to hold her back. It meant she had to be mature and upstanding and do the right thing even when it was difficult.

As it was, he began to run his hand up and down her side from where they were wrapped together, his way of saying he understood.

"It's tough to watch her grow up. I know."

The fears came spilling out without warning, "What if she falls and hurts herself?"

"She will get up."

"What if her and this Jasmine get into a fight?"

"She'll be okay."

"What if she doesn't like their food?"

"She will say something or she won't."

"What if she gets scared when she goes to bed?"

"She'll be okay."

"What if she can't sleep?"

"She'll be okay."

"What if she has a nightmare?"

"She will be okay."

This last assertion was said with more force, less nonchalance, and Mary exhaled, hating that she sounded so obsessive, that she was displaying how overprotective she really was. As a result, she leaned her head onto Marshall's chest, so readily available, and felt him thread his fingers through her hair.

"I want this for her, right?"

"You do," he was good at reminding her. "We all do. And, it will get easier. I promise."

Mary wasn't sure she believed that, but she didn't argue with him and allowed his gentle, soothing touch to take her away. She closed her eyes as she lay nestled in his side, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as she had felt Matt's not so long ago. His fingers were light and supple in her tangled hair; the movements put her into a trance, a rare breeze sneaking through the treetops and causing her to breathe in the scent of marigold and lilacs in full bloom near the fence.

And, even though his presence was enough to satisfy her just now, he still knew exactly what to say to truly bring her feet back to the ground.

"She will always need you, Mary. Friends come and go – as do boys, big and small…" she knew he meant himself and the others as well as romantic entanglements down the road. "But there will always only be one mom."

"She's not going to stay little forever…"

"That doesn't mean she won't still need you," she shouldn't have to have this reiterated, and yet it was still nice to hear. "I seem to remember a woman who wanted – _needed_ – her mom pretty badly when she was frightened of becoming a mother herself. A woman who asked over and over again for Jinx and who finally lost her cool and poured out her heart to her in a way it would take her a very long time to do with me…"

Mary knew he was talking about when Melissa was born, when she had pleaded with him to find Jinx because she had craved being taken care of by a parent, something her father had never been able to do. The memory seemed very distant now, and yet it still made Mary feel better. In spite of the fact that she liked to paint herself as being indestructible, the knowledge that even she had desired a mother gave her hope for Melissa never completely breaking away even when she was grown.

And yet, this wasn't all that lightened her load, and she grinned even though Marshall couldn't see her from above.

"You remember that, huh?"

You never knew what he was going to pull out of his hat.

"Mmm…bits and pieces," he conceded. "I remember thinking it was sweet. I remember not feeling snubbed that you longed for Jinx before me."

"Well, those days are over…" she chortled. "At least for the moment."

"I would pretend that I wasn't glad about that, but alas…"

His familiar, professor-esque voice was what caused Mary to finally turn her head to look up at him. Cast in shadow by the branches, he was still as enchanting today as he had been all those years ago when he had, in fact, watched over her as she became a mother to the daughter whose absence she was mourning right now. She wanted to tell him how much peace and unbridled security he brought to her life, the kind she had coveted as a child with no father of her own. But, she had never been the one that was good with words, and so she hoped a smile would suffice.

The beard he had kept for the past nine months was the perfect combination of rough and soft beneath her fingertips as she brushed it, and he chuckled almost as though she had tickled him. The awestruck look in her green eyes, the way she fingered every inch of him seemed to prompt his next phrase.

"I feel like you're memorizing me…"

"No…" she whispered. "Anything I need to memorize wasn't important enough to stick in my head – or my heart – in the first place. Don't you think?"

"Well, I like to think I've learned that better than just about anyone," the quickest reminder of the accident. "The memories are dim and there are some that I still very much wish I had retained…" like the wedding, for instance. "But, I've come to find that trying too hard doesn't yield results. You let it come easy, and don't take any of the impending days for granted."

"Sometimes I worry I let them go by too fast without stopping to…"

"Smell the roses?"

"Or the lilacs."

Marshall smirked, "Give yourself a little credit. Any mom who wells up over her daughter going on a sleepover isn't taking _too_ much for granted."

She didn't even hit him for daring to mention that she had been teary-eyed, but instead repaid him for the compliment by stretching her neck and kissing his lips. Sprawled on his chest, the sounds of her sister and mother and friends chattering in the background, the thought of Missy off on a brand new quest, was enough to make her believe that life really was as precious as Marshall was making it out to be. The cliché was a stock one, but after everything they had been through in the last year, it was hard not to get lost in his mantra to live life to the fullest.

And, getting lost was exactly what she was doing. There had been a time when she'd wondered if Marshall would ever enjoy kissing her again, but in the midst of it now, there could be no question. Both arms pulled her deeper and deeper into his body, her hands raked all through his hair and onto his bare chest. The kiss itself was really but a distant memory, as the feel of him pressed so close to her was what she truly coveted and cherished. The company of another human being was something Mary had never thought she could crave so hungrily and yet she'd nearly drowned when she'd believed she might let Marshall slip through her fingers so many months ago.

"You know…there is one good thing about Little Missy being Miss Independent these days…" he murmured once he pulled his lips free.

"Mmm…what?"

"More time for you and me."

And time, Mary thought, whether speeding up or slowing down, whether they had handfuls of it to spare or so much to lose, was the true entity to keep their eye on as the seasons changed from year to year. Time was what you wasted and equally what you treasured; she wondered just how many people realized that before life struck a blow that snuffed out your minutes far too soon.

But, regardless of this profound realization, she blinked girlishly at her husband and said, "Time to grow old, huh? Who knew that could be so fun?"

Marshall winked, his eyes the exact shade of the clear, endless blue sky above.

"Time is when the memories are made."

XXX

**A/N: And, this is where I leave you! I admit that I will miss Melissa, as I have missed so many characters I have created over the years, but you never know when she might be back. Right now, I have no idea if there is anything in the works. I started a fourth part to the holiday series with Norah, Robyn, Max, and Alice, but abandoned it when I got invested in this, so I suppose there's a chance I will go back to that. I also had thoughts for a sequel to "Summer Stardust," but there is not so much as a typewritten word to begin that, so I can't make any promises! All I can say is that I hope this isn't goodbye for the long haul.**

**Thank-you so much to all of my individual reviewers – BrittanyLS, NayriceKOL, Jayne Leigh, Jojo78 (Keira Cassidy?), JJ2008, hannanball13, Adelled, carajiggirl, LadyPetunia, and all guests! I might've had a smaller group reviewing this time, but it is all about quality, not quantity, and allowing me to top 200 reviews yet again is going above and beyond. I hope you all will stick with me if and when I return – many of you have been with me from my very first story, and I can ask for better than that. Thank-you, thank-you, and thank-you again!**


End file.
